


All Along

by thegraytigress



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Steve Rogers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Hurt Steve Rogers, M/M, Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-01 19:48:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15150539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegraytigress/pseuds/thegraytigress
Summary: Somewhere, somehow, with all the stuff they've been through…  All the times they had to fake being more than they were. Somehow Tony falls in love with Steve for real.Or five times Tony and Steve fake being in a relationship and the one time they realize they're already in one.Part of the Stony Loves Steve Exchange 2018





	1. The Mission

**Author's Note:**

  * For [olympvs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/olympvs/gifts).



> **DISCLAIMER:** _The Avengers_ , _Iron Man_ , and _Captain America_ are the properties of Walt Disney Studios, Paramount Studios, and Marvel Studios. This work was created purely for enjoyment. No money was made, and no infringement was intended.
> 
>  **RATING:** E (for language, violence, adult situations)
> 
>  **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Stony loves Steve, and so do I! ;-) Thanks to junker5 for a speedy beta on this one.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this fic, olympvs!

“You want me to do _what?_ ”

Fury just stared at Tony with that annoyingly stoic glare of his that just screamed _don’t make me kill you._   Resting murder face.  Yeah, that was a good term for it.  Fitting.  “Was any part of my instructions unclear, Stark?”

Tony sputtered.  “No, but…  But…  I get it, but… I mean–”

“Then see to it,” Fury snapped.  “The delegation is on its way, and you need to be on the deck of the helicarrier immediately.  These guys put a lot of stock in formality and punctuality.”

“But–”

“Which means move your ass, because you need to get dressed.”

There was sniggering behind him, and he turned, face burning (not with a blush, because Tony Stark did not _blush_ ) as he glared.  “You got something you want to say, Barton?”

Clint was leaning against the wall of the situation room, his muscular arms folded nonchalantly across his chest and a shit-eating grin plastered all over his face.  His eyes were glimmering, _glimmering_ like it was taking all of his self-control not to break out in a ridiculous fit of laughter.  “Nope,” he answered.  “Nope, I’m good.”

Thor wasn’t so restrained.  The demigod threw his head back in a roar, clasping his own breast as he did so.  He really got into it, guffawing like this was the funniest thing he’d ever encountered in his long, _long_ life.  “Yes,” he gasped between laughs.  “You must _dress._ ”

Tony seethed.  “Alright, what the fuck?”

Thor managed to control himself enough to explain.  “The Alterians will only address your representatives in formal negotiation attire, which includes a rather… _fetching_ gown.”

“What.”

“It is the way of their people!” Thor announced giddily, and then he started laughing again, and now Barton was joining in, and even Black Widow was smiling and giggling.

Tony wanted to kill them all.  “And how is it I got elected for this?  These guys are from outer space, so it seems to me that royalty from worlds beyond is way better suited to play emissary!”

“They requested to speak a representative who possesses intelligence comparable to their own, as they put it,” Fury said.  “That means you.  They want to talk tech, and you’re definitely the smartest negotiator we have to offer.”

Normally Tony would have been pleased with such a declaration (especially from Fury), but right now he couldn’t manage any emotion beyond being shocked.  And alarmed.  And freaking _pissed off._   The call from SHIELD regarding this situation had reached the team at the Tower not quite an hour ago, and they’d rushed to the helicarrier, expecting to have to fight a flood of alien invaders.  Instead what they got was this weirdness.  These extraterrestrial visitors had apparently announced themselves by proclaiming they wanted to engage in “peaceful” discourse with humanity and judge the race’s worth against their own standards.  Of course, given the size of the fleet they’d parked just beyond earth’s atmosphere, it’d be in humanity’s best interest to cooperate.

Hence agreeing to their terms.  Their downright _ludicrous_ terms.  Tony shook his head and jabbed his thumb down the way.  “But why do I have to do this with _him?_ ”

The _him_ in question had been infuriatingly silent throughout this whole stupid thing so far.  That wasn’t unexpected.  If Steve Rogers could find a way to piss Tony off by doing nothing at all, he would.  He was just _sitting_ there in a chair at the conference table, listening to the mission parameters, placid and stoic and nonplussed and seemingly not at all bothered by the fact that the Director of SHIELD had basically just ordered the two of them to pretend to be married.

_Married._

What a fucking crock.  They were barely friends at the best of times, and they got along about as well as oil and water.  They were as different as could be, Tony the rich, eccentric, animated futurist and Steve the quiet, serious, solemn man from the past.  Were it not for this team that had inexplicably become theirs, the one Steve led as Captain America and Tony financed and provided for as Iron Man, they’d have nothing in common.  And Tony was happy to keep it that way, even if their less than stellar behavior around each other bothered the rest of the Avengers (and himself a bit, if he was honest).  He couldn’t help but be abrasive and sarcastic and just a bit condescending.  All his issues with Captain America (thanks to dear old dad) aside, Rogers’ no-nonsense, stubborn, high-and-mighty self-righteousness aggravated Tony to no end.

Case in point: even now Rogers was as unbothered as he always seemed to be, blue eyes clouded and narrowed with thought, muscular, impressive arms folded across his equally muscular and impressive chest, looking so cool and confident and goddamn perfect that Tony wanted to puke.  And Tony could tell what he was going to say before he even opened his mouth.  “Let’s just take it easy.” 

Predictable as hell.  “No, I don’t want to take it easy,” Tony said in irritation.  He leaned into the table, bracing his knuckles on it.  “I want to know what the hell you’re smoking that’s got you thinking there’s any chance we’ll do this.”

The hint of an amused expression on Fury’s face vanished.  “Because we need you to.”  That only made Tony angrier.  He caught Rogers’ stern glare, and he rolled his eyes, exaggerating it just to make sure the other man saw it, that _everyone_ saw it.  Fury sighed.  “Look, Thor kindly informed us that these Alterians will only speak in pairs, and they prefer to do with two individuals also in a committed relationship with each other.”

“Yes, I did kindly inform you,” Thor said, and Tony wanted to wipe that smug grin off his face.  He would have, if he didn’t think Thor would squish him for trying.

Fury went on.  “They put a great deal of stock in affection towards one another.  According to what we know, love is a foundation in their society, something they respect deeply, and nothing is done in solitude.  They consider mating, marriage, and bonding to be a sacred act that indicates emotional, physical, and spiritual maturity.”

There was more sniggering in the background.  Tony ground his teeth together.  “And they don’t care that we’re two men?” he asked.  Not that he cared.  He was and always had been perfectly comfortable with his own sexuality.  Rogers, on the other hand?  With his “golden generation” sensibilities and outdated views on sex and love and equality?

Okay, Tony had to concede they were _likely_ outdated.  He really didn’t know, because he’d never bothered to actually ask Steve anything about what Steve thought, but Steve was Captain America, the poster boy for purity.  Being from more restrictive time notwithstanding, there was just no way he’d be okay with same sex _anything_.  Rogers would have a problem with this.   He _had_ to have a problem with this.

Only he didn’t seem to.  Tony glanced at Steve as if to bait him, but Rogers just continued to sit there with a tense, pensive look on his face.  He wasn’t indignant or upset or even mildly concerned, at least not about what they had to do together.  Tony huffed to himself.  This was bullshit.  He needed Cap to object to this on moral grounds so he could get off the hook, because this was just going to be awkward and uncomfortable and awful as hell.  And that wasn’t because he needed to fake being married to another man.

It was because he had to fake being married to _Steve._

_Damn it, you pain in the ass.  Can’t you just once do what I want?_

“The Alterians put no stock in binary concepts,” Thor explained.  Tony forced himself to stop glaring at Steve and focus on Thor.  Not that that was any better.  Instead of being frustrated at Steve’s complete lack of reaction he could be aggravated at Thor’s overreaction.  As in he was _still_ way too freaking amused by this.  The demigod was grinning like a child who’d discovered a naughty joke.  “Completion of the body and spirit in the love of another is all that matters to them.  Gender is irrelevant.”

“Well, ain’t that progressive,” Tony muttered.

“You have a problem with that?” Fury asked coolly.

“Not with that!” Tony snapped.  “With this!”

“With me,” Rogers supplied, turning his sharp gaze to Tony.  He was unreadable, and Tony didn’t like that.  Had he hurt his feelings?  Did Rogers even _have_ feelings to be hurt?

 _Don’t care._ The desperate need to _stop_ this trumped everything.  “With him,” Tony agreed, turning back to Fury.  “There has to be someone else.”

“There isn’t,” Fury declared firmly.  “Finding the perfect couple that fits the bill of capable and qualified with this time constraint isn’t realistic.  You are, hands down, our best resource when it comes to tech.  If they want to talk shop, you’re the one to do it.  And you need protection and, frankly, someone who’s got a knack for handling people.  Someone calm who’s not likely to provoke or intimidate or ruffle anyone’s feathers.  A yin to your yang.”

That had Barton laughing his ass off.  Even Bruce – _what a traitor_ – was smiling and chuckling and trying hard to hide it.  Tony glowered at him.  “Sorry,” Bruce murmured, trying to control his smirking and failing.

Fury went on.  “Cap’s a master tactician and, let’s face it, a hell of a leader.”  Tony wanted to scream.  He glanced at Rogers again, hoping to catch him beaming or gloating with the compliment, but he wasn’t.  His eyes were still just glazed with thought, lips pressed together in a thin line.  “Working together, you two should be able to pull this off.”

“I guess you’re forgetting how we don’t see eye to eye,” Tony sharply reminded.  He couldn’t believe he actually had to say that as if it wasn’t fucking _obvious._ “Like _at all._ Or maybe the months of bickering and arguing and all that has escaped your notice?”

“Stark, you have to admit that you two complement each other.”  Tony turned and stared, shocked as hell, at Romanoff.  She was smirking, shrugging like she, too, was compelled to point out the obvious.  There was a devious glint in her eyes.  “If you’d quit fighting for a few minutes, you’d probably hit it off.  Opposites attract and all that.”

 _Oh, bullshit._ “No.  I’m not doing it,” Tony said resolutely (and probably a little petulantly, but, damn it, this was bullshit).  “Uh-uh.  No way.”

“You don’t really have a choice.”  The set of Fury’s jaw and the hard glint in his eye was more than enough evidence that that probably was the case.  Sure, Tony had money, and he had power, and he was the mind behind SHIELD’s superhero team.  All the gear and tech the Avengers had at their disposal came from him, even with SHIELD’s help.  That should give Tony influence here, but it didn’t really, not at times like this, and Fury knew it.  He leaned into the conference table, his one eye sharp and demanding.  “If you don’t do this, who knows that these aliens intend?  This is a test, and we need to pass it.”

Tony was too riled to accept that, even if he knew beyond a doubt it was true.  Protecting the earth was his job, _their_ job, and they had to do it.  They were the Avengers.  And so what if it was Rogers he had to do it with?  He listened to Cap (well, most of the time) on the battlefield.  He deferred to him and followed his orders.  He could _pretend_ to like him.  For crying out loud, Fury (and Barton and Romanoff and Banner and Pepper and basically everyone who knew him) had been begging him to do that for months.  Would it kill him to try?

 _Yes._   Thus, torn between duty and the fact that this sucked and sucked hard, he just stood there, sputtering, flushing red with anger and embarrassment.  Everyone was staring at him, everyone except Rogers, and that made this creeping sense of shame and discomfort worse, and – _damn it_ – he knew he was beat.  “Oh, fucking hell,” he grumbled, throwing his hands up in exasperation.  “Fine.”  Thor and Clint laughed again, but Tony was too angry and embarrassed to care.  He just gritted his teeth, refusing to so much as look at Rogers.  “Tell me what I need to do.”

The rest of the brief went quickly.  Tony listened, for the most part.  Some of him did anyway.  Something about addressing their alien visitors (and judges, it seemed) with the utmost respect, with a great deal of deference, speaking very literally, using a calm, even tone, offering no concessions but doing anything and everything possible to broker peace (and a chance to look at their technology).  That last part alone would have normally had Tony ridiculously excited (tinkering with alien tech?  Sign him up), but he couldn’t focus on that or much of anything else, nothing aside from Rogers.  Now he was standing by the end of the conference table with his shield on his back.  His arms were still folded across his chest, and his face was still so damn impassive.  Suddenly figuring out what Captain America felt about this was more paramount than _this_ itself.  Was Rogers angry?  Disgusted at the idea?  That still didn’t seem to be the case.  The more Tony watched him, the more he wondered.  He wondered about that a lot, if he could be honest with him (which he rarely was because, fuck, it was hard enough to work with Rogers.  Admitting he thought about him at times?  Never).  Steve was so damn calm, taking in the instructions (“PDA is a definite must with these people,” Fury was saying.  “Remember: they measure the worth of the individual, and by extension the worth of humanity, on the strength of your relationship, so _show_ it.”) without a shred of doubt in his eyes.  This seemed like any other mission to him, one with objectives that needed to be met and parameters that needed to be understood. 

That… pissed Tony off too.  So all this meant that little to Rogers?  Was Steve _really_ just okay with everything?

_Couldn’t be._

A few minutes later, they were being led by Hill to a more secluded office down the hallway from the situation center on the helicarrier.  They were shuffled inside the fairly small space, and the… _robes_ were there, hanging in a closet.  Steve frowned.  “We could have gone down to the locker room,” he commented, and that was the first real sign that he wasn’t as comfortable with this as it seemed.

Hill was her usual level of iciness.  “No time, and we couldn’t risk these getting ruined.  The Alterians sent them.”

Each robe was varying shades of pink, purple, and lavender, and they were overly elaborate and ostentatious.  They seemed to be constructed of complicated layers of panels, and on the top most layer, symbols adorned the fabric in flowing columns.  They looked like something off a Hollywood set, like a costume from the latest cheesy sci-fi flick.  Tony walked over and pinched the sleeve of one between his thumb and forefinger.  He lifted it, wrinkling his nose.  “Lovely.  But this really isn’t my shade.  I prefer more muted tones.”

Even Hill, the poster girl for humorlessness, grinned a bit _._ “Get dressed, boys.”  Then she closed the door behind her.

Neither of them moved for a bit.  Tony was stiff, staring at the girlish dressing gown, acutely aware that Rogers was right behind him.  It seemed like neither of them would make the first move, each too proud and stubborn to actually submit to this.  Finally Rogers grunted.  “Alright, let’s get this done.”

Just like that.  _Get this done._   That only made Tony more annoyed.  He turned around to find Steve setting his shield to the top of the empty desk.  Then he was crouching to undo the straps and ties of his boots.  Tony’s heart pounded with a nauseating mixture of ire and panic.  Growling lowly, he pulled one of the robes down.  “Which one of these indicates I’m wearing the pants in this relationship?”

Steve gave a short, heavy sigh and looked up.  “You know, you could try not to act like this is the end of the world.”  He yanked off his second boot and lithely stood and start attacking the many clasps and zippers of his tac suit.  “It might _be_ the end of the world if we can’t pull this off.”

“Oh, yeah right,” Tony huffed.  The fact that Steve was undressing this fast seemed to be a challenge, and he turned away, kicking off his sneakers and dropping his hands to his belt.  “These Ulterior Motives or whatever the fuck they’re called aren’t going to blow up the planet.  Fury wants us in there to spy and get an idea about their tech.  You’ve worked for SHIELD for weeks now, Rogers, and you haven’t figured out that he’s always playing a game?  And we’re the entertainment this time!”

He felt more than saw Steve go stiff behind him.  Too angry to think, he hastily undid the button of his jeans and unzipped his fly.  “Fake _marriage_ ,” he muttered.  “Unbelievable.  This is total _bullshit_.”

Of course, Rogers heard him.  Even without the serum-enhanced senses, the room wasn’t exactly big and Tony hadn’t been all that quiet.  The sigh the other man gave rang of nothing but admonishment.  “We’re never going to pull this off if you’re this irritated, so stop.”

“Right, Cap,” Tony spat.  “Gotta make sure the mission succeeds.  Doesn’t matter how awful it is for us, right.  Whatever it takes.”

“Stop!”  Steve turned around, and Tony did too at the same time, and there Rogers was in all of his glory.  Tony hadn’t seen him like this before.  They all lived in the same Tower, which, granted, was a huge place, and it wasn’t like they’d hung out in the gym or in the locker room or even in each other’s suites before.  In fact, outside of Avengers functions and the occasional time the both of them were forced to interact over the rare team dinner, they rarely saw each other.

Still, the few times Tony had seen Steve undressed had all been in the course of their duty as Avengers.  Steve had been wounded or they’d had to change quickly where they were or things of that nature.  This?

This was intimate.  And Tony couldn’t help but stare.  God, Rogers was gorgeous.  Again, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t noticed that before, but it had been a sort of meaningless, automatic thought, like, _oh, yeah, blue’s a nice color._   _Oh, yeah, chocolate’s infinitely better than vanilla._   _Oh, yeah,_ _Cap’s got a nice ass._  Now…  It was all there on display.  Even with an A-shirt and underwear on, Steve was practically naked for how well tightly those thin layers of cotton covered him and fast Tony was mentally ripping them off.  The swells of his ridiculous abs and pecs, the broadness of his shoulders tapering into that narrow waist, the size of his biceps, the thickness of his thighs, the way his blue boxer briefs left basically nothing to the imagination…  The man was a living, breathing Adonis, perfection incarnate.  All that milky, flawless flesh over those amply proportioned muscles.  The deceptive strength in that lean, slender body.  Soft blond hair that seemed gold-spun even in this shitty fluorescent lighting and blue eyes that were stunningly deep and beautiful…  The pink, softness of his inviting lips.

_Damn._

Of course, those lips weren’t all that inviting all tight with a frown and those eyes weren’t so pretty when they were so full of frustration.  Every line of Steve’s body radiated displeasure.  “Just stop.  This isn’t exactly my idea of the ideal situation either.  Quit acting so put-upon!”

Then Steve was stalking by him and snatching one of the robes.  Tony just watched, stupidly entranced by every little move Steve made.  The way his muscles fluidly stretched and flexed as he reached, the way his eyebrows knit as he grabbed the fabric and pulled it closer, like he wanted to yank it but that was too impolite.  “We have to do this and do our best,” he said tensely, taking the gown off the hangar.  “Even if it means doing it with each other.”  Hastily and somewhat clumsily he fumbled with the ties of the gown in the back, eyes narrowing as he concentrated on that instead.  “How the hell do you work this thing?”

“Here.  Let me,” Tony said, taking the robes from Steve.  It was much more obvious that Steve was irritated now (his own version of resting murder face, but one compounded with the added dimensions of _son, just don’t_ and _you better think about what you’re doing_ and _how dare you besmirch my nation like that?_ ).  For some reason, that did make Tony feel a bit bad (and bad that Steve wasn’t more hurt that Tony didn’t want to do this _with him_ , but that was rather dickish, to insult someone and then be unhappy with their lack of response to your insult).  But whatever.  Tony wrestled with the clasps a bit before getting them open.  Then he starting getting the robe on Steve.

“I can do it,” Steve responded, tense but not as sharply as Tony might have expected.

“It’s fine.”  And it was fine, because from here, Tony had a much nicer view of all the things he’d been (probably unabashedly) ogling seconds before.  The muscles of Rogers’ back were a gift to mankind.  So was his ass (but no surprise there), and so was the sudden, full-body-blush that was turning all that pale, creamy skin pink (which Tony hadn’t anticipated, and hot damn, that was nice, too).  And he felt a bit worse, more like a sleaze ball, because checking out a mostly nude Captain America hadn’t been on the radar today, and he shouldn’t be indulging.  He was supposed to be pissed off.  He _was_ pissed off, because this was bullshit, and _he_ _did not want to do it._

Still, this was a silver lining.

“Stark?”

“Yeah!  Yeah.”  Tony hopped to it, wrapping the robe around Steve’s body and helping him with ties that were placed in areas no human who wasn’t a contortionist could reach.  More than once his fingers brushed over Steve’s bare skin, and he might have gotten accidentally a little too close, and this… _thing_ between them that until now had been cantankerous and bitter and frustrated was maybe possibly _potentially_ turning into something not quite so bad.

What had Romanoff said?  _Opposites attract._

_Nope.  Not going there._

He cleared his throat and finished with the last of the ties.  “Done.”

Steve winced, turning around and smoothing the overly long, ridiculously intricate, and frankly somewhat clownish robe down.  It looked like _My Little Ponies_ had puked all over him.  “How is it?” he asked.

“Stupid and over-the-top.”  Steve glared.  “What?  We can be stupid and over-the-top together.  Isn’t that the point?  Two halves of the same whole?  Matching chumps in love?”

Rogers frowned.  “Go to hell, Stark.  We are _not_ in love.  We don’t even like each other.”

“Darling, I’m wounded!  You’re breaking my heart!”  Tony clutched at his chest over the arc reactor.  Steve’s eyes flashed even more, and his resting murder face was getting…  well, more murderous.  Tony huffed.  “What?  Fake relationships have to be grounded in some realism.  The best lies are the ones with a shred of truth to them!  Romanoff didn’t teach you that?”

“You’re unbelievable,” Steve huffed, irritated.

This was too good an opportunity to pass up.  There was a time constraint, and they needed to get this done, and even _he_ thought this was seriously inappropriate, but he licked his lips and slinked closer, dropping his voice into a husky whisper and laying the lust on thick.  “I need you.  Oh, God, I need you!  Do me.”

Steve flushed with more embarrassment and anger.  He was all too easy to predict and to tease, always had been, and considering how vindictive Tony felt right now, teasing and being a smartass was the only way he could deal.  If he was going to be forced to do this, he was all in.  Being a jerk was always a good defense against his own emotions and insecurities.  He pulled a one-eighty and feigned complete innocence.  “What?” Tony said, getting his own robe and shoving that at Rogers.  “Did you think I meant…  _Oh._   No, I mean I need you to do my robe, too, like I did yours.  Fair’s fair, sweet-cheeks.”

Now Steve did yank the robe, cheeks burning and eyes filled with fire.  “I was trying not to be angry about this,” he snapped, getting the gown ready for Tony, “but you make it impossible.  You’re such an–”

“Asshole?”  Tony’s flustered emotions twisted up into resentment and pure disdain again.  He got in Steve’s space.  “Go on, Cap.  Say it.  Tell me what you think of me.”

Rogers clenched his jaw.  This had been a source of contention between them from the get-go, from those first heated moments on the helicarrier where Steve had told Tony he was no hero and Tony had fired back that Steve was nothing without the serum.  Even now, months later and with the team well beyond those tumultuous beginnings, that exchange still smarted.  Tony couldn’t shake it, couldn’t get over how worthless Rogers made him feel.  It was a reaction rooted in his childhood, and some logical, mature part of him realized it was wrong to take the pain his father had caused in his youth out on Rogers now.  It wasn’t Steve’s fault Howard Stark had been a shitty father.  Steve had been lost in the ice, frozen for all of Tony’s unhappy childhood and most of his subsequently not-so-happy adulthood, so it couldn’t _ever_ be his fault.

That logical, mature part didn’t usually get its way when it came to dealing with Steve.  Steve stared at him, and Tony stared right back like the stubborn bastard he knew he could be, and neither one of them backed down.  Screw some love-crazy alien delegation and the fate of the world.  Tony could wait until the ends of the earth to beat Steve Rogers.

And he won this one.  Steve sighed shortly again and looked away.  “Let’s just not talk, alright?  Nothing beyond what needs to be said to do this.  Can you manage that?”

 _Screw you._ “I can if you can,” Tony said, and that was as far from conciliatory and confirmatory as possible.

There was a knock at the office door.  Hill’s voice was muffled but demanding.  “Are you two ready?  We need to go.”

Steve was silent then, going about getting Tony’s dressing gown on him.  He wasn’t careful or gentle, and Tony knew that didn’t have anything to do with the need to rush.  A few minutes later, they were both dressed and ready to go.

 _Fuck._   Tony glowered at the closed door.  He did _not_ want to do this.  _Fake bullshit._

Of course, Captain America didn’t hesitate (or didn’t let his hesitation show, at any rate).  He stalked to the door, the robes swishing the whole way, and pulled it open.  He didn’t speak or even look over his shoulder at Tony, heading out into the corridor.  Hill was there of course, and she looked baleful.  “Can you pretend to get along?  The world’s on the line here.”  She didn’t wait for Tony’s response before turning on her heel and following Rogers.

The trip up to the flight deck was predictably humiliating with people along the way staring and whispering and probably laughing.  Clint and Thor _definitely_ were laughing as they all headed up to meet the Alterians.  Not a word was shared between Tony and Steve as they waited for the aliens to arrive.   They didn’t even look at each other.  They stood side by side with maybe six inches between them as if those six inches were the most valuable distance in the world.  Tony was pretty damn sure the tension couldn’t have been cut with a sword.

A few minutes later, the aliens’ ship arrived through the clouds where the helicarrier was floating in the New York harbor.  It slowly came down, and it seemed to descend with all the heaviness of his doom.

When the strange, sleek ship touched down on the flight deck, Steve took a deep breath.  The rear ramp was lowering, spilling jets of steam out everywhere.  _This is it._   Behind them, Fury cleared his throat in a not so subtle reminder not to fuck this up.  “Fake it,” Steve ordered quietly, only loud enough for Tony to hear.  He reached for Tony’s hand.

It was childish as hell, but Tony pulled away, battled him, twisted free, because holding hands with Steve Rogers was just… _wrong_.  But Steve didn’t let go, forcing their fingers to weave together and tugging Tony to his side.  Tony went, stiff, and Rogers was rigid, too, and the whole thing was painful and awkward and awful.

 _Fake it._   Yeah, right.  No amount of acting in the world was going to make this work.  These aliens were going to have to be dumber than dumb to think any of this was real.  Frankly, Tony would be absolutely shocked if this didn’t end with an alien invasion and Captain America and Iron Man killing one another.

It didn’t.

Stranger things had happened.

But not many.


	2. The Gala

Tony hated the Maria Stark Foundation Gala.  That was probably pretty awful of him, considering he was the son of the Foundation’s namesake.  If there was ever a night he needed to represent his mother’s ideals, it was that night, the one where the Foundation Board spent a ridiculous amount of funds to throw this swanky party and bring in the biggest donors and woo them with the fanciest food and the nicest venues and the best money could buy in terms of a high-class, well-to-do affair.  It was a really important event, one of the most popular among New York (actually, the _world’s_ ) wealthy and prestigious elite.  The party was typically a year in the making for how much planning and preparing Pepper (and the rest of the Board) did for it.  That was another reason it was pretty much the epitome of assholishness for him to despise it so much.  People worked very hard to ensure its success and, frankly, raising money to combat childhood illnesses was a really good cause.

But, fuck, it was awful.  He couldn’t stand the snobs that came to this thing.  It was the same bunch every year, the richest, most arrogant, most condescending jerks imaginable from the world over.  Senators and politicians and associates and other business leaders.  A few foreign diplomats and Hollywood personalities.  Socialites left and right.  Plus the media was always all over it, slavering like a pack of rabid dogs for pap shots of the influential people coming to dine and dance the night away.  Of course, the guests were always quick to say it was about “doing the right thing” and “giving back” or some such bullshit.  For these people it was really about the _appearance_ of doing the right thing, and ever since the Battle of New York some months back and becoming an Avenger, Tony was starting to understand that there was a huge difference between acting like a hero and actually being one.

The sad situation of the hero who’d inexplicably taught him that was actually the crux of why this year, more than the ones before it, was so terrible.

“God, Stark, stop _staring_.”

Tony turned his gaze back to Natasha where she was standing beside him and sipping a flute of champagne.  She looked stunning in a sleek, shimmering, black evening gown that hugged her body in all the right ways.  Her hair was piled atop her head in an intricate style that had loose, red tendrils caressing her face.  Her eyes were sharp as ever, and Tony knew she’d been watching him all night.  Watching him and getting more and more amused.

Because Tony _couldn’t_ stop staring.  Steve was down the way by one of the many buffet tables.  He’d been there for while now, ten or fifteen minutes at least, though he wasn’t eating or even getting food from the abundant spread.  No, he was just standing there, stiff as a board.  Tony couldn’t quite see his face completely from his vantage, but he could imagine Rogers’ expression all the same.

Utter and complete mortification.

The cause of that was clear as day: one Mrs. Deborah Landry, wife of House Majority Leader Paul Landry.  Landry was an old bastard, very rich, very powerful, and very cruel, but _very_ old, and his wife was equally rich, powerful, and cruel but not as old and therefore quite the cougar on top of that.  They were a match made in hell, to be frank.  It was a well-known fact throughout the upper echelons of the social sphere that Mrs. Landry had married her husband only for his money and influence _and_ that she devoured young men, bedding them as she so desired and then tossing them aside when they stopped amusing her.  She was putting out all the stops tonight, dressed to the nines in a sparkling red gown that accentuated all of her (likely cosmetically modified) assets.  Her sharp features were made sharper with far too much makeup, and her gait was thick with a confident, sultry swagger.  She was flirty and charming and not at all shy about exuding sex appeal, which she had in abundance.  She was a force, powerful and not at all weakened by her age.

Furthermore, she had a thing for Steve’s “type”: young, handsome, and wholesome.  Plus Steve looked ridiculously fine in the Armani tuxedo Pepper had ordered and had tailored for him (not that Armani needed much in terms of advertising, but if they put Steve Rogers in one of their tuxes on a magazine cover, they’d be set with marketing for forever).  He was dapper, deliriously beautiful, _serious_ eye candy, and completely oblivious about how _good_ he looked, even more than he usually was.  _Everyone_ was watching him, and not just because this was Captain America’s first foray into a party like this in the 21st century.  Having him here was turning out to be a serious draw.

Thus Mrs. Landry perceived competition, and she was clearly staking her claim.  She was _all over_ Steve, had been since she had arrived.  She’d been hanging on his arm, monopolizing his time, laughing at everything he said, flirting with him and basically trying her damnedest to charm her way into his pants.  She was continually backing him into a corner where his kindness and own sense of gentlemanly manners refused to permit him escape.  Steve himself was flustered, trying to extricate himself from her attentions politely and failing stupendously over and over again and getting more and more agitated about it.  Watching it all had been nothing short of infuriating.  It was sickly apparent Mrs. Landry wanted to have him, and he had no concept of how to stop her.

“This is crap,” Tony muttered, turning away again.  The whole thing was just pissing him off even more, turning his already crappy mood into an even crappier one.  Had he known Landry would be like this (well, he had, he supposed, but it hadn’t occurred to him) and that Steve would be her target for her usual post-party “rendezvous”, he would never have invited her.  Screw her husband’s money and all the damage they could probably do to his reputation.

Romanoff took another sip of her drink.  “If it’s upsetting you this much, you should save him from her.”

Tony ground his teeth together.  “He doesn’t need saving,” he grumbled, though he was pretty sure that was a lie.

Clint was standing next to Natasha, chugging some wine.  He had cleaned up pretty well and had so far been on his best behavior, despite his grumpiness about having to attend this “bullshit”.  “Don’t know about that.  He seems pretty out of his league.”

Steve was.  He was _way_ out of his league, and Tony knew that.  It was kind of crazy that he did know now, that he knew Steve well enough to be sure he was in trouble _and_ to want to help him.  Ever since the weirdness with the mission where they’d had to pretend to be in a relationship, things had been… _easier_ between them.  It wasn’t as if they’d overcome all their differences and difficulties overnight, but they’d finally buried the hatchet, so to speak.  He and Steve had played the part of lovers successfully, which was still, even months later, freaking mind-boggling.  For all the freaking out Tony had done, the whole thing had gone ludicrously well.  The “fake” marriage thing had gotten the job done swimmingly, and the aliens had regarded them and thus humanity as honorable, affectionate, and worthy.  Steve had controlled their interactions with them, and Tony had stayed… well, _demure_ was too insulting but not much of a stretch.  To put it bluntly, Steve had led, and he had followed, and that had worked.  The PDA stuff had also worked.  Hand-holding, hugging, staying close, even a sweet (but tad awkward) kiss on the cheek…  Yeah, that had all happened, hadn’t even been all that hard to _make_ happen.  It had just come rather naturally.

And Tony had been thinking about it a lot since then.  Dreaming about it maybe.  Just a little.

Regardless, their success in that stupid, crazy mission had softened the tension between them a lot.  They weren’t fighting much any more, at least not so vitriolically.  They weren’t demeaning each other or judging one another or beating the other down.  They were… friends.  Yeah, that was close enough.  Not just acquaintances who barely tolerated one another while they both worked for the same goal but honest-to-goodness _friends_.  They talked about non-Avengers things more often.  They’d shared a beer a couple of times.  They joked a bit, laughed a bit, let themselves get to know each other.  It was nice.  Comfortable, even.

Tony wasn’t sure he wanted comfortable.  And he was really fucking sure he did not want that woman’s hands on Steve.

There was a peel of laughter, high-pitched and most definitely hers, and Tony ripped around to watch again.  Mrs. Landry was on his arm like a leech, and Steve was looking around frantically while she giggled.  For a second those brilliant blue eyes landed on Tony, and Tony held his gaze, could see how desperate he was to _get out of there._   Then Steve was looking away again and Mrs. Landry had calmed herself, slinking even more into Steve’s personal space like she wanted to crawl inside him.  She turned and looked at Tony, too, as if she’d noticed where Steve was looking.  As if he _knew_ what Tony was thinking.  She grinned, and it was feral.

_What the actual fuck._

“He’s fine,” Tony heard himself say.  That was a load of crap, and Tony knew it, but they didn’t have a close enough friendship for him to intervene.

At least he kept telling himself that.  He went on about his business, schmoozing donors, drinking some champagne and nibbling at the fancy spread.  Having the Avengers there was new, and people were excited and interested.  That was good because handling the intrigue was a lot of work and kept him distracted from the situation, but it was bad, too, because it kept him distracted and was thus leaving Steve unprotected.  Not that Steve needed protection.  He kept telling himself that, too.  They didn’t have that kind of friendship, where help was freely given or accepted.  Of course, wrapped up in all this nonsense too was jealousy.  Tony had a feeling Romanoff was onto that, had been onto it before he’d even noticed himself.  She was creepily perceptive that way. 

Whichever way Tony sliced it, this was awful.  Now that he’d made the connection ( _he’s my… friend, and she needs to get her claws off_ ), it was impossible to ignore it.  He kept telling himself something else as well, that it _wasn’t_ plain old-fashioned vanilla envy ( _she’s got no right to be all over him_ ) and desire ( _I should be the one laughing at his jokes_ ) and a bunch of other emotions he didn’t care to untangle let alone process.  He was angry because Steve was being treated like this, like a piece of meat and the whole damn room was clambering for a bite, and it was Tony’s responsibility to look out for him because he was the host.  Yeah, that worked.  Good rationale.  This was _his_ party and these were _his_ guests, and therefore it was _his_ job to keep an eye on any and all untoward and/or harassing behavior so that everyone could have a good time.  Plus Steve hadn’t even wanted to come to this thing; he’d only done it because Tony had convinced him.  Tony owed it to him (and to his mother’s foundation, which could only benefit from Captain America’s allegiance) to make the evening pleasant.

Still, though, he just couldn’t make himself do anything.  The evening went on, and he kept letting Mrs. Landry’s fawning slide.  Acting was too forward, too frightening, and way too _not_ like him.  This was stupid.  _Let it go.  He’s fine._   That thought came unbidden every time he caught himself glancing over.  Steve was now literally backed into a corner over by the side of the ballroom.  Mrs. Landry had her hands on his arm, and she was grinning a dazzling grin.  Over the din of pleasant conversation and music, Tony couldn’t hear what she was saying.  Whatever it was, Steve looked mortified with a red tint high on his cheeks.  He was scanning the room anew, probably trying to find a way out and much more desperate about it this time.  He twisted a bit, moving from the wall and backing away from her.  He didn’t seem to see Tony.

But Tony saw it all.  And he saw fucking _red_ when Mrs. Landry pressed herself bodily to Steve and very purposefully grabbed his ass.  And _squeezed_ it.

“Oh, that’s it,” Tony muttered, and he was strolling across the room, making his way through the crowd as gracefully as he could but with a very definite purpose.  Once he was there, he donned his own dazzling smile.  He knew how to be suave and charming and how to play these assholes.  He swooped in, very much into the part, and put his left arm around Steve’s lower back and intertwined his right very boldly and possessively with Steve’s.  “Darling!  There you are!”

Steve jolted, obviously shocked to high heaven.  “Wh-what?”

Tony smoothly tugged him closer, seeming airy and light even as he glared daggers at Mrs. Landry.  For her own part, Mrs. Landry backed away from them right away, dropping her hands with her perfectly-manicured red nails from Steve.  All the sultriness vanished from her eyes like a fire doused with water.  The flirty smile also slid off, and she frowned, off-put.  The surprise on her face couldn’t have been any more delicious.

Ridiculously pleased, Tony let his grin get even bigger and become downright toothy.  “I’ve been looking for you all over.  I swear, Deb–”  Mrs. Landry _hated_ being called “Deb” or any other sort of nickname.  “–Steve’s hopeless at these sorts of things.  He wanders like a lost puppy.”

“Tony,” Mrs. Landry greeted with fake gentility.  The air between them was downright icy.  “It’s nice to see you.”

“Nice to see you, too,” Tony replied, leaning unabashedly into Steve’s side.  “I hope he hasn’t been too much of a bother.  Blabs all the time about the good old days.  He’ll talk your ear right off.”

Steve hadn’t caught onto the ruse yet, still sputtering and rigid, and Tony wished he’d get with the program.  If he didn’t, this wasn’t going to work.  Mrs. Landry seized onto the opportunity to reassert herself, however slight it was.  “Actually, Steven and I were just making arrangements to meet tomorrow for breakfast–”

“No can do, babe,” Tony said, directly to Steve.  “You remember?  We’re off tonight, flying to Malibu after this.”  Steve just stared at him in stupefaction, and Tony had to resist the urge to roll his eyes.  Instead, he charged onward, pouring it all into his completely confident, possessive show.  “We’ve got our own plans.  Breakfast in bed, watching the sunrise on the ocean, enjoying the morning together…  Probably some skinny dipping.”  He turned to Landry and smirked knowingly.  “Private beach at the mansion.”  Steve went red.  Tony couldn’t let himself stare at that pleasant blush.  “How could you forget?  You’ve been looking forward to this trip for weeks!”

For a second, it seemed like Steve didn’t possess the mental acumen to help in his own salvation.  Then he finally relaxed, wrapping his arm around Tony.  “Yes!  Yeah, I did.  Sorry,” he said.

“You see?  Totally hopeless,” Tony declared with another smile.  Mrs. Landry looked _pissed,_ like she could see through their lie but couldn’t call either of them out without seeming like the jealous bitch she was.  Tony could have died happy at seeing her so angry and helpless.  “Anyway, need you, sweets.  Avengers business and all that.  You don’t mind, do you, Deb?”  He didn’t even give her a chance to answer before tugging Steve away by the arm.

Once they were out of earshot, Steve turned to him.  “What the hell are you doing?”

“Saving you,” Tony explained.  The orchestra was gearing up for a dance, a waltz it seemed, and an ingenious idea popped into Tony’s mind.  _Avengers business._   He grinned, feeling Landry still scowling at him, as he pulled Steve to the dance floor.  “Play along.”

“Saving me?” Steve sputtered.

Tony dragged him to the floor right as the music swelled into the new song.  “You are now officially my date,” he declared, guiding Steve, putting Steve’s arm on his shoulder and his own hand on Steve’s waist.  He hooked their fingers together.  “See?  We’re dating.  Dance.”

“Wh-what?” Steve stammered again.  He was clumsy as hell as Tony pulled him along and blushing furiously.  “We’re not dating!”

“We are tonight,” Tony hissed lowly, pulling Steve closer.  “Look, they don’t know that!  And it worked before, right?  If we could convince a group of weird-ass aliens that we were frantically in love, we can fool this room full of rich assholes that we’re a couple for a few hours so they stop bothering you.”

Finally Steve seemed to catch on.  His horrified, embarrassed expression loosened a bit, the panic in his eyes receding and his frown loosening.  He nodded and stopped being so rigid, relaxing in Tony’s arms.  “Thanks, Tony,” he murmured.  Relief came hard now, and Tony could see him melting into it.  “Thanks!  God, I didn’t know how I was going to get out of that.”

Having Steve thank him…  It made Tony warm in ways he hadn’t anticipated.  He stared at him now, and the fall of his hair over his brow, the lines of his face, the feel of those muscles beneath that sharp tux…  The pinkness of his lips and the warmth of his eyes and how _strong_ his arms were.  It was so good to be in them, so good to be this close.  This was another taste of what they’d inexplicably gone through weeks ago, and it was akin to a jolt to senses that had almost forgotten a wonderful experience.

 _So good._  

Tony forced himself to focus again.  This wasn’t real.  Just a favor between friends.  “You’re welcome.  They’ll keep their distance if you’re with me, trust me.  So just play along.  Fake it.  We got this.”  Steve stepped on his foot.  “Ow!”

“Sorry!” Steve whispered.  “Sorry!  Geez, I – I don’t – I can’t dance.”

“Noted.”  Tony could feel every pair of eyes in the ballroom on them, watching keenly, some in surprise and some in anger and some in good humor.  Some knowingly.  Romanoff and Barton.  They were off to the side, smirking, and Romanoff in particular seemed utterly smug.  Tony couldn’t bring himself to care much, shooting her a little annoyed, knowing look of his own, before pulling Steve further onto the dance floor and more into his arms.  “It’s not a problem, Cap.  Just follow my lead.”


	3. The Kidnapping

“Tony?  Can you hear me?  Tony?  Tony!  Wake up!”

Tony opened his eyes.  At first, nothing came into focus, and the world was just a blurry mess of shadows and dim colors overhead.  Then he blinked away tears and saw Steve leaning over him.  “What happened?” he whimpered, squinting against light that seemed too bright.  His head really freaking hurt.

Steve frowned.  “We were kidnapped.  Do you remember?”

Quite frankly Tony didn’t for a few excruciatingly long minutes.  His thoughts felt unbelievably scattered – yeah, that throbbing was _definitely_ from a blow to the head – and it took a while for anything to make sense.

Oh, right.  He and Steve had been “undercover” at a secret meeting of a bunch of black-market arms dealers and the less-than-savory scientists who designed and sold the sorts of WMDs and such they liked to buy.  SHIELD had gotten wind of this little shindig a few days back, a party that featured the likes of AIM and the remains of HYDRA and other terrorists, tyrants, and nefarious evil-doers.  Fury had immediately made plans to infiltrate.  Tony was an automatic choice for the mission, given he had knowledge of a few of these folks from his previous life as a weapons contractor.  SHIELD had been able to spread around some rumors that he was going out on his own, that he’d had enough of dealing with the Avengers and he was quitting the superhero game to return to his roots as an arms dealer.  That way he’d be welcomed enough not to rouse too much suspicion.  Steve had volunteered to pose as his bodyguard, which worked, surprisingly, since a lot of people recognized the symbol of Captain America but not the face of the man beneath the cowl.  Also, the people coming to this “sales expo” were not the upper echelons of the world’s bad guys, to be frank.  These were the simpler threats, the ones who couldn’t afford to have their own weapons researchers and dealers, who had to go to these sorts of things to make connections.  They were desperate and greedy, the sort that needed to be stopped before their small-time aspirations became big problems.

Thus Steve and Tony had been sent in, and their mission had been a simple one: get in there, snoop around, listen to the gossip among the scum of the world, and report back to SHIELD so proper measures could be taken to address any and all threats arising from the meeting.  The event was taking place at a Moroccan villa owned by a banker who did business with a lot of these guys, some place considered to be neutral territory.  The two of them had arrived earlier that day and attended the swanky “party” the banker had thrown.  Tony had tried to work the room, pushing into conversations a bit to glean what information he could, and Steve had been right with him, playing the part of his protection.  Tony had thought it had been going pretty damn well.

Until he and Steve had stepped out from the posh villa for a breath of air and to try to surreptitiously touch base with each other.  Outside, they’d been surrounded, jumped, and everything had gone black.

Which led to here, now, and a hell of a headache.  Tony groaned, trying to sit up and take stock of their surroundings, but he was too dizzy and he nearly pitched to the side.  “Easy,” Steve softy said, grasping his shoulders.  His hands were cuffed.  Tony noticed his were, too, and the both of them were locked in what looked like a cement cellar of some sort.  Everything smelled wet and musty, and it was shadowy with only a few dim bulbs working where they were recessed into the ceiling.  There wasn’t much in the room except a few drains and a door that looked thick and was probably locked.  Oh, and another set of handcuffs dangling on chains from a huge pipe overhead. 

Nice.  A torture dungeon.

“Where are we?” Tony said, wincing.

Steve glanced around, like he was appraising the place anew.  “Not sure.  They blindfolded us when they took us, and I had to pretend to be unconscious while they brought us here.  It can’t be too far from the villa.”

That didn’t make much sense, not so much the remaining close to the villa but the other part.  “You… what?”

Steve sat back on his heels.  “Well, Fury said to get info.  I kinda figure it might be worth finding out what they kidnapped you for.”

Tony squinted, raising his hands to probe at the huge, bloody bump on the back of his head.  _Fuck._   “Wait, you _let_ them take us?”

Steve smiled sheepishly.  “Yeah?  I’m real sorry they hit you.  I should have seen that coming, but – well, Nat and Fury thought things might go this way.”

“Come again?”

He looked even more ashamed, blushing a bit.  Steve blushed a lot.  “Before we left, they pulled me aside and said someone might make a move for you.  Tony Stark in a place like this with people like these?  That could be a magnet for these guys, so Nat thought you might be a target.  And she thought–”

“I could be bait, huh.  Might as well let them kidnap me to see who it is and what they want,” Tony finished.  Steve grimaced, which only made Tony get angry.  “Goddamn spies.  Way to not let me in on the plan, Rogers.  I thought you were better than that, Mr. Honesty and Integrity.”

“They thought it _might_ happen, not that it was likely,” Steve replied defensively, “so I made a call.  I said I was sorry, and I mean it.  The situation sprung on us, and I did what I thought was best.”

“Apology not accepted.”  Tony shifted, sitting up more on his own and pulling his legs under him.  Moving made the room spin, and he was quite nauseous.  Despite that, though, and despite ending up in this crappy cellar with who knew what fun before them (and despite being left in the dark about the possibility of ending up in this shitty situation in the first place), he couldn’t manage much anger.  It really wasn’t Steve’s fault.  In fact, since the gala fiasco a few weeks back, Tony was finding it harder and harder to be mad at Steve about anything.  They’d been hanging out more, finding reasons to meet up that had nothing to do with Avengers’ business, and enjoying each other’s company.  Steve had been doing a lot of special ops missions for SHIELD of late, which Tony didn’t particularly like, and not just because he hated SHIELD with a passion, but these missions were dangerous, and Iron Man wasn’t at Captain America’s side to help him, and that made him uneasy in a whole new way.  When Steve was around, though, Tony found himself making time for him, no matter what he was doing.  Sometimes it was just crossing paths in the common room and taking a second to talk and have a snack together.  Other times it was inviting Steve into his workshop to go over and demonstrate new equipment for the team, which always led to Steve staying longer and conversations that were friendly and informal and really nice, when Tony thought about it.

And then other times still they watched movies together or played video games or sparred down in the gym.  Steve was always itching to show him new moves, new techniques to protect himself in hand-to-hand combat and to show him up a bit; Steve was competitive, no doubt about it.  Tony was learning that about him.  In fact, Tony was learning a lot about him.  How smart he was and how fast he learned (he soaked up Tony’s explanations about pop culture references and world history and even technology like a sponge).  How dry his humor could be.  How nice his laugh was.  How good it felt to make him smile.  How, underneath the intimidating mantle of Captain America, Steve was a damn decent guy, someone who was sweet and funny and not nearly so sure of himself and someone who desperately needed a friend.

More and more, Tony wanted to be that.

Right now, though, he just wanted to figure out how they were going to escape with neither of them getting hurt any worse.  “So, since you got us into this mess,” he said, grunting more as he shifted to be a bit more comfortable, “how are you planning on getting us out of here?”

Steve smirked just a bit.  Despite the ache in his head ( _God, I think I have a concussion_ ), Tony couldn’t help but find that charming.  He always liked it when Steve surprised him.  Steve lifted his bound hands, jiggling the chains just a bit like it should be obvious what that meant.  If Tony’s brain hadn’t felt like it had been run through a blender, maybe it would have been.  As it was, he just stared blankly until Steve explained more.  “They don’t know who I am.”

Another moment passed before it clicked.  Steve having to fake being unconscious.  Steve _letting_ these morons kidnap them.  Those flimsy handcuffs.  Well, to be fair, those cuffs were a problem for Tony himself (and your average man), and there was no way he could break free of them even pulling as hard as he could.  Steve, though?  “Been damn hard _not_ to rip these things,” Steve declared with even more of a smile.  He cocked his head.  “I don’t think we’re in too much danger.  Not yet, anyway.”

Tony couldn’t help a little smile.  “You’re craftier than anyone takes you for, Cap.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve let myself be captured for the greater good.”  Steve’s smile turned into a pleased grin, just a touch devious.  “So you want to see where this takes us?  If we can get what we came for?”

That didn’t seem to be too bad of an idea.  “I’m game if you are.”

So they decided to wait.  They didn’t talk much.  Well, Tony didn’t.  His head hurt like a son of a bitch, so it was easier to simply… _not_.  He didn’t think, didn’t struggle, didn’t try to come up with a plan to address the situation.  It seemed like Steve had it all in hand, and after working with him all these months, Tony trusted that was the case.  It normally took a lot for him to relinquish control, but it was surprisingly easy here and now, and it wasn’t even all because his brain felt like it was swelling outside of his skull.  He genuinely had faith in Steve, realized it was okay to let go and be just a bit vulnerable, so he simply drifted, leaning up against Steve, allowing Steve to support him and take care of them both.  Tony leaned into Steve’s side and closed his eyes.  Steve was strong and firm but soft and gentle, too.

This was nice.

Steve was talking in a low voice.  He was saying things about their mission, plans he had to get them out of this.  Things about how the men had taken their phones and comm links but that they were probably overdue for checking in with SHIELD by more than six hours so Fury and the others would be all over this in no time.  Things like he was pretty sure these bastards were going to try to torture Tony for information (but he wouldn’t let it get even close to that) and how they must not be among the more intelligent or well-informed of the bunch (they’d been sloppy with the kidnapping, not recognizing Steve aside).  Things about how, should it come to hand-to-hand combat, which it invariably would, Tony should not engage unless it became absolutely necessary (because of his concussion, mind you, not because he couldn’t handle himself, and the fact that Steve felt he needed to make that distinction was somehow sweet).  Things like how this was fine, how they’d gotten out of worse before and would get out of this.

Tony probably should have been paying better attention to all these instructions, but it was hard with his head hurting and his brain this uncooperative.  It was better to just doze, lulled by the sound of Steve’s now familiar voice, and think of Steve saying other things in a low tone like this as Tony laid against him.  More meaningful things.  More _intimate_ things.  God, it had been so long since he’d wanted that from anyone.

Like never.

Being loopy and a tad delirious and not quite with it next to Steve Rogers…  Yeah, this was _really_ nice.

Some time later (Tony couldn’t really say how long), there was a ruckus.  People came into the cellar.  That was really annoying, because Tony was in the middle of remembering just how gloriously _good_ Steve had looked stripped down to his underwear and undershirt and how smooth his skin had been to the touch and dreaming about what it might have been like to _really_ touch it, really feel and explore it, to kiss those full, pink lips…

What a bunch of assholes, interrupting that.  And they were even bigger assholes for wrenching him away from Steve and dragging Steve away from him.  That pierced the haze in his head, and he jerked more awake.  He barely remembered this group of thugs from the party before.  There were maybe a dozen bad guys in the room, some armed with handguns and some with more dangerous rifles, all doing their level best to look threatening and badass.  Frankly, though, these were the sort of jerks Fury didn’t even send the Avengers to deal with anymore.  They were numerous grades below the level of dangerous that deserved the attention of Earth’s mightiest heroes.  Tony smiled smugly as they dumped him less than gently onto his knees in front of the dangling handcuffs.  “Not really into S&M, guys.  Sorry.”

A balding man in an expensive suit (expensive, but not nearly as nice as the Dormeuil Tony was wearing that was now dirty and rumpled and probably ruined) stepped into view.  Now that he had a better look at him, Tony recalled seeing this guy on the list of known terrorists at the mission brief yesterday.  Fahreid?  Fahraq?  Something like that.  _Farquaad._   That little dude from _Shrek_.  This guy sort of looked like John Lithgow, so that worked.  And he was clearly the leader of this riff-raff, looming over Tony in an obvious show of power.  He was also very obviously overcompensating.  “Always such a smart mouth, Mr. Stark,” he said, his voice heavily accented.  “So smart and so powerful.  Well, we’ll see how smart you are about telling us what we need to know.”

Tony forced his bleary eyes to focus.  “Do whatever you’re going to do to me,” he said.  “I’m not telling you shit.”

“We’re not doing anything to you,” Farquaad said smartly.  “We’re doing it to your lover.”  _My… what?_  

Then Farquaad stood aside to reveal Steve hanging from the handcuffs.  He was too tall for the space, so he still had his feet beneath him (his bare feet – they’d stolen his shoes and socks).  During the scuffle, the bad guys had also taken his suit jacket and shirt off, revealing his ridiculously well-muscled chest.  God, he looked _good,_ even like this.

He also looked like he was trying his damnedest _not_ to break the chains.

And Tony’s brain was still skipping.  Even if he hadn’t had the concussion, what Farquaad had said would have thrown him for a loop.  “He’s not…”  Tony sputtered, shaking his head.  “He’s my bodyguard, you jackass.”

Farquaad gave an arrogant, knowing smile.  “No man looks at his bodyguard the way you were looking at him tonight.”  Tony’s mouth fell open limply.  Steve had been staring at them all with steely eyes, but now he appeared similarly shocked.  Shocked to high heaven, really.  Farquaad took their surprise and alarm as confirmation that they’d been found out.  “Ah, yes.  You were making…  What is it you Americans call it?  _Heart eyes._ All night you were watching him, Stark, the way a man watches his prized possession.”

Tony tried to think, tried to remember the party.  They’d been trying to gather intel, working the room – well, Tony had been; Steve had been pretending to be his bodyguard, staying silent and looking intimidating behind him.  Tony hadn’t been looking at him… had he?  He hadn’t been talking to him or flirting with him or…  He put his arm around Steve’s back once.  _Christ._

Farquaad chuckled.  “The terror in your face now…  Your secret is out.  And I have your precious boy at my mercy.”  As if on cue, the slew of thugs surrounding Steve got closer.  Some had brass knuckles.  One had a length of chain he was dragging and twisting around like a whip.  Steve tensed, and for a second, Tony couldn’t tell if he was playing along or genuinely scared.  “Your… _sweetheart_.  We’ll make him bleed if you don’t cooperate.”

Could these guys actually _hurt_ Steve?  Tony grimaced, panic beginning to coil in his gut.  He was disoriented enough that he couldn’t control his fear a moment.  “No, no.  Please.”

The satisfied smile on Farquaad’s face was disgusting.  He came closer.  “Then tell us what we want to know.”

“No, Tony!” Steve cried.  “Don’t say anything!  _Don’t say anything!_ ”  There was a smack, what sounded like a punch landed in Steve’s exposed midriff, and Steve cried out.  That… didn’t sound entirely right.  He’d seen Steve in pain before, and Steve was a silent sufferer.  He didn’t like to acknowledge that he was hurt, didn’t like others to be aware of his pain.  The whole team had taken note of that (not entirely agreeable) behavior right away.  To hear him shout like that?

It had to be fake.  Steve was faking it.  And Tony needed to play along.

Farquaad moved, probably to let Tony see his “lover” getting hit, and Steve’s gaze met Tony’s for a second.  There was nothing but determination there.  The first couple blows landed, and Steve struggled and lurched and wailed in pain, but none of it was real.  Anyone who knew Steve in the slightest could realize that.  He wasn’t that good of an actor.  The fear in Tony’s gut disappeared really quickly.

But he threw himself into his role, too.  He managed to sob a little (which wasn’t too hard; all he had to do was bend his neck and the room spun and he wanted to puke).  “No!  Please!  Please don’t hurt him!  I love him!  I love him!”

“Oh, I know you do, Stark,” Farquaad responded, clucking his tongue in mock sympathy.  “He’s such a handsome boy, isn’t he?  Do you think he’ll look as pretty covered in his own blood?  That he’ll be so nice and sweet, broken and screaming?”

 _Oh, for Christ’s sake._   “I’ll do anything,” Tony sputtered, blinking loose tears, hoping he looked flushed and panicked and piteous.  “I’ll do anything.  _Please!_ What do you want to know?  What do you want?”

Farquaad’s scowl was pleased but menacing.  Compared to some of the worst evil Tony had faced down, Loki and Whiplash and the Mandarin and _Obie_ , this was just woefully comical.  “Information on all of Stark Industries’ newest weapons.  The ones you developed but shelved when you took your… _ill-advised_ hiatus to become an Avenger.”

What the hell was this guy going on about?  Tony must have been staring in confusion, because Farquaad got angry and hit Tony across the face.  The blow was pretty brutal, made more so by the head injury he’d already sustained.  He heard Steve yelling, but it seemed like it was very far away.  The thugs behind him were steadying him, and for a moment, that was all that kept him from falling.  He groaned, warm, coppery bitterness filling his mouth.  “Jesus…”

“Did you hear me?  I want to access to your inventions,” Farquaad hissed.  “I want them!”

Tony spat blood to the floor.  “Like the hoverboard in _Back to the Future?_ ” he slurred.  “’cause I got a prototype of that somewhere.  Think I do, anyway.”

“Tony!” Steve cried.

 _Oh, right._   That was a sharp warning, not that Steve himself was hurt but to keep up the act.  “I’ll do anything,” Tony whimpered.  “Anything you want.  Just please don’t hurt him.  Please!”

“Then answer me,” Farquaad demanded, “or they will get started.”

“Don’t!  Leave him alone!” Tony screamed.  His muddled brain finally reminded him of what he was supposed to be doing.  “What do you want?  Who are you?  What do you want them for?”

His little digging expedition pissed off Farquaad, and he found himself backhanded again.  Steve was yelling some more, demanding that they hit him instead of Tony, begging them not to hurt him because he loved him…  “Tony, please!  Please just do what they say and they’ll let us go!  Give them what they want!  Don’t fight!”

Faker words had never come out of Steve Rogers’ mouth.  Farquaad laughed, though he had no idea.  “Listen to your lover, Stark.  He at least has some measure of smarts and self-preservation.”  _Ha._ “I’ll ask the questions.  You answer.”

Tony summoned all the pathetic he could muster (which, with his head swimming as bad as it was wasn’t all that difficult) and looked up at the douchebag threatening him.  He made another attempt at getting some information, as stupid and futile as that probably was.  “Why are you doing this to me?  Why?  Please don’t hurt us!  I don’t have weapons you can take!  I don’t do that anymore!”

Farquaad’s glee vanished.  He turned to his men, shifting to stand to Tony’s left so Tony had a good view of the “show”.  The thugs around Steve tightened their holds of their weapons.  They chuckled sadistically, like some scene out of Bond flick with the bad guys hungering for a piece of the helpless hero.

Only the hero wasn’t helpless.

The second the chain snapped across Steve’s back and basically nothing happened, the would-be torturers went still.  Tony grimaced, watching the bastard with the chain.  The guy frowned, clearly surprised and annoyed that the blow hadn’t seemed to hurt his prisoner (or even knock him forward for that matter).  He went at it again, striking Steve harder.  The sound of the links of chain cracking and then forcefully smacking into Steve’s back was awful, but again, Steve didn’t budge and didn’t cry out.  He didn’t even frown, his face locked in an expression of resolute irritation.  Apparently he was through playing games.

Farquaad seemed to be as well.  “What?” he snapped at his men.  “What’s the problem?”

The guy with the chain shook his head and said something in another language.  He was staring at Steve’s back, which probably wasn’t bruised in the slightest.  Farquaad’s face scrunched up in confusion, and then he was stalking over to see for himself.  Tony tried to look defeated and lost as he waited, head lowered and shoulders slumped.  It was surprisingly difficult.  _Yeah, you asshole.  Look and see what you’re up against._

Farquaad grunted and stomped back to Tony.  “What the fuck is going on, Stark?” he raged.  “Who is he?  How – what – _why_ –”

“Guess these are the questions you want me to answer?” Tony said, pouring smugness into his voice despite the room spinning.  He gave a sloppy smile.  “I told you: he’s my bodyguard.”

That really pissed Farquaad off.  Suddenly he was seething, pulling something from a sheath behind him that glinted silver in the paltry light – _knife!_ – and grabbing Tony by the hair.  He yanked Tony’s head up, shoving the blade against his neck.  Farquaad screamed something, obviously out of his mind with rage, and for a second Tony thought he was going to die.

Not even close.  There was a loud bang behind them and a bunch of alarmed cries and ragged, furious shouts.  Tony couldn’t see what was happening with Farquaad in the way, but there were flashes of things.  The thugs scrambling.  Chains whipping around.  Smooth, pale skin and muscles.  The sound of flesh striking flesh and bones cracking.  Gunshots.  _No!_   Panic had his heart pounding and the room spinning even more, and he squirmed in Farquaad’s grasp to see more.  _Steve!_

But Steve was fine.  Steve was more than fine.  He was kicking their asses.  _All_ of their asses.  He’d ripped the handcuffs right down from the ceiling, and he was going after their enemies with a vengeance.  The dozen or so of Farquaad’s men were trying desperately to restrain their prisoner (or more likely kill him, now that they were getting their rears handed to them), but they didn’t stand a chance.  Steve was a _machine_ , moving faster than they could stop, faster than Tony could even see really.  He was graceful, methodical, fighting in a way that Tony hadn’t really ever appreciated before.  It was stunning, incredible, amazing and astounding just how fast and powerful he was with basically nothing but his half-nude body as a weapon.  These guys, even with guns, were no match for him.  He delivered punches that crushed bones, kicks even barefoot that sent assailants flying, counters that were expertly timed and executed, dodges that were quicker than these bastards could handle.  One by one, in a violent, quick succession, he dropped them all.

It was quite possibly the sexiest thing Tony had ever seen.

Farquaad was screaming his head off.  The couple of guys who’d been handling Tony rushed into the fray, but they were just more bodies to fall.  A second or two later, it was all over, and Farquaad’s men were strewn around the concrete floor, moaning and bleeding.  Steve was hardly even breathing heavily, standing in the center of the carnage, blond hair mussed and eyes narrowed dangerously.  Tony could only stare at him, entranced.  The knife pricking and trembling at his neck didn’t matter.  The fact that Farquuad was still screaming his head off, trembling with the realization that he was in some deep shit, didn’t matter, either.

The fact that Steve had single-handedly taken out this entire company of kidnappers to save _him_ …  Yeah, that was all he could think about.

“Back off!  Back off, or I slit his throat!  Do you hear me?” Farquaad shrieked.  Tony gasped as the sharp edge of the knife nicked his skin, yanking him from his trance.  The little sting of pain was somehow stronger and more acute than the vertigo and agony of the concussion, and suddenly he was stupidly terrified.  Concussions always ended up doing this to him, making him freaking emotional.  “Get back!  _Get back!_ ”

“Let him go,” Steve ordered evenly.

“No!  I’ll kill him!  I’ll do it!”  Farquaad was screaming like a madman.  “I’ll do it!  You want him dead?  _Back off!_ ”  Tony squeezed his eyes shut.  This guy was unhinged.  Chances were good he’d kill him anyway.  “I fucking mean it!  I’ll–”

Steve moved like lightning.  He dropped, rolling forward in a blink of an eye.  Tony couldn’t think, couldn’t follow what was happening, couldn’t even _feel_ , as Steve scooped up a fallen handgun, raised his hand, and pulled the trigger.   _Oh, shit!  Oh, shit!_ A deafening bang echoed.

And the knife fell from Tony’s neck.  Tony choked on his breath, scrambling forward instinctively, and turned away.  Farquaad was on the ground now, holding his bleeding shoulder.  He was sobbing.  Steve stalked over to him and kicked the knife from the fallen terrorist’s hand before unceremoniously driving a fist into his face and knocking him out.

It was silent save for Tony’s labored breathing.  He blinked back tears, realizing he was very much still alive, tingling with the nearness of it all.  Then he turned and saw Steve.

Steve had not a mark on him.  He ejected the gun’s magazine before tossing it.  Then he smoothly crouched in front of Tony.  “You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Tony managed after a beat.  It took another second for his brain to get somewhat back into gear.  “Yeah!  Yeah, I’m fine.  Holy shit, though.  Holy shit.  Remind me to never piss you off again.”

Steve grinned.  His eyes were full of concern, though, as he tenderly rubbed his thumb over a stinging spot on Tony’s throat.  That must have been where he was cut.  The look on Steve’s face…  It was as if this tiny, insignificant nick equated to a complete failure.  “Sorry,” he murmured with that deep grimace yet on his face.  “Shouldn’t have waited so long to get the situation under control.”

Tony felt giddy.  “Apology accepted.”

“Let’s get the hell out of here.”  With no trouble at all, Steve ripped Tony’s handcuffs in half.  Then he pulled Tony to his feet.  Tony was wobbly at best, the vertigo coming down on him hard and fast.  He groaned, nearly doubling over, but Steve kept him steady.  “Alright?”

“Trying not to puke,” Tony moaned through clenched teeth, slumping against Steve.

“I’ll get you to a doctor.  Do you think you can walk?”

Normally Tony would have had a sharp, smartass remark to an insulting question like that.  As it was, he just nodded, swallowing down bile and clinging.  Steve didn’t seem so sure, his eyes full of concern.  Tony could hardly care, though.  The feel of Steve’s smooth chest against his own, against his _cheek…_   “Steve?”

“What?”

“For the record, I wasn’t making heart eyes at you.  At the party before.  That was, uh, most definitely not true.”

Tony felt Steve smile, and he pictured it as he let his eyes close.  It’d be a sad smile.  “I know you weren’t.  We’re friends, Tony.  I know you’d never.”

_We’re not lovers.  We’re just teammates.  We’re just friends._

Tony struggled with his own disappointed smile.  “If it’s all the same to you, though… I’d appreciate if you could leave that part out of the mission report.”

Steve chuckled, a comforting rumble under Tony’s ear.  “Sure, Stark.”

That was good.  This was fine.  And if Steve ended up carrying him out of there in bridal style, with Tony huddled close to his warm, bare chest…  Well, that got left out of the mission report, too.


	4. The Joke

“Everybody who’s anybody is talking about Tony Stark’s latest flame.  I mean, nobody saw this coming.  Rumor had it these two did _not_ get along at all, like _at all_.  If you look back at early events and interviews with Stark and the rest of the Avengers, the chemistry between him and Cap…  Well, there wasn’t any.”

“I beg to differ, Amber.  It’s called _unresolved_ sexual tension.  The two of them were constantly undressing each other with their eyes.”

“Well, regardless, this does come as a surprise, but it’s pretty undeniable.  Tony Stark, _the_ Tony Stark, is dating Captain America.”

Tony stopped dead in his tracks on his way into the common room.  The whole team (save Steve – he was on some secret op for SHIELD in the Middle East with the STRIKE Team) was there having a huge breakfast, and they were all watching one of the morning talk shows (a digital gossip rag, for all intents and purposes).  A bunch of catty-looking women were gathered around a couple of couches, and in the background there was a picture of Tony himself (snapped at some recent event – Tony couldn’t remember which) and a nice shot of Steve (from the Maria Stark Foundation Gala a few months back – Tony would know _that_ look anywhere).  The women were laughing and chatting about them like they were a couple.

Now Tony was no stranger to rumors circulating about him.  His whole life he’d been in the spotlight in some way, shape, or form.  His family had always been rich and famous, and before becoming an Avenger, he’d never shied away from the attention and adulation.  There’d been a time when he’d craved it, indulged in a fancy, carefree, playboy lifestyle, and he hadn’t given a damn about what _anyone_ had thought about him so long as they were thinking about him.  He’d slept around, partied, spent money left and right, done whatever the hell he’d wanted with whomever he’d wanted.  Even when he started as Iron Man, he’d definitely enjoyed the media obsession.  Though he’d changed his ways quite a bit, people _still_ liked to talk about him all the time.  He was a magnet for speculation.

So it wasn’t so much their gossiping about him that bothered him.  It was that they were gossiping about Steve.  Steve _and_ him.  “Steve and I are not dating,” he said firmly as he walked further into the room.

It was as if the women on the TV heard him and disagreed with him.  “All the evidence is right here!”  They brought up a still image of Steve and him, likely caught by the paparazzi, out together incognito at a Yankees game.  Steve had an ice cream cone, and Tony was standing close to him.  “Look at the way Tony’s leaning in!  Or this.”  It was another shot of the two of them coming out from the Met, again one that had been taken without their permission.  “See their smiles?”  They were both smiling.  In fact, Tony remembered this moment, remembered laughing at something Steve said.  _Really_ laughing, not the fake crap you did when you were with someone you didn’t know or like all that well and were trying to be polite.  “Or this.  Or this!”  More images came to the screen, all of him and Steve out at varying activities and events.  In every single one of them, they were fairly close together, leaning near each other or sometimes touching, a hand on a back or on a shoulder, and in every one of them, they looked _happy._

_Christ, we do look like we’re dating._

“It’s not dating if there’s no kissing.  They’re not even holding hands.”

“Oh, come on, Bree, look at the body language!  Those two are in love.”

“I refuse to believe that until I see it.”

“Shut up,” Tony muttered, shutting the television off.

The others had been so glued to the screen that they clearly hadn’t noticed him before, even with his indignant announcement moments prior.  Now Clint was indignant, too, reaching for the remote to turn the TV back on.  “Hey!  We were watching that.”

“It’s trash,” Tony said dismissively, “and so are all of you for watching it.”

“No, I tend to agree with the lady commenter,” Thor said, leaning back into the plush cushions of the sofa.  He had that look he tended to get when he was about to tease.  Thor teased people like he fought; he threw everything into his swing.  “You have been keeping secrets from us.”

“Oh, go to hell,” Tony grumbled, heading over to the breakfast bar to get himself a cup of coffee.

Thor didn’t.  In fact, he went on.  “It does seem like you two are smitten with each other.  Perhaps congratulations are in order?”  His eyes twinkled mischievously.  “Will there be upcoming nuptials?”

Tony growled into his cup.  “There will not be because Cap and I are _not_ together.  This is a load of crap, and you guys know it.”

Bruce’s smile was soft and calming, like he recognized he was treading thin ice through teasing who by all accounts was his best friend, but he was just unable to resist.  “You have to admit that you guys have been spending a lot of time with each other recently.  You have been going out two or three times a week.”

Natasha looked surprised.  That was saying something when it came to her.  “That often?”

“Yeah.  At least.  He keeps canceling on me to do things with Steve,” Bruce answered.  “Games, dinner, museums, walking around Central Park–”

“–that was not a _walk._   We were doing a charity event!”

“That featured the two of you _strolling_ side by side, leading a hundred people like the two princes of virtue and contentment,” Clint said with a laugh.  Tony fumed.  “So…  I guess dating Cap is a move up for you, huh, Stark?  Cleaning up your act and all that.  Adding a little national glory to your bad boy lifestyle.  Apple pie and fireworks and the national anthem.  Is he any good in bed?”

“For fuck’s sake,” Tony snarled, glad Steve wasn’t there to listen to this.  “Captain America isn’t gay.”  Not that Tony knew Steve’s sexual preferences.  Not that he’d ever asked and not that Steve had ever offered, but Steve hadn’t been offended by the relationship they’d had to fake for the aliens or the time Tony had pretended to date him at the Gala or the terrorist thinking they were involved when they weren’t.  Steve didn’t seem to have a problem with Tony at all.  Much to the contrary, ever since the botched kidnapping thing in Morocco, he and Steve had been attached at the hip.  If Steve found the idea of dating another man disgusting, wouldn’t he have frowned his Captain America Frown of Disapproval and taken off for the hills?

He hadn’t.  Tony hadn’t run either, and all the stuff that used to bother him so much about Steve (or the idea of Captain America, to be more accurate) just didn’t matter anymore.  Still, even though they had been spending a lot of time together recently ( _a lot_ , in fact, and he couldn’t deny that), they’d never even broached the topic of what it was they were doing.  Of what they were.  Avengers.  Teammates.  Partners.  _Two friends, having fun together._   It was so damn nice that Tony hadn’t even thought about it ever becoming something more.  That just… didn’t seem possible.  “And even if he was,” he heard himself say, “he wouldn’t date me.”

“Ah!  So you’ve thus considered it,” Thor said with a sly grin.

Tony threw his hands up.  “What?  _No._   No, Steve and I are not dating.  We just enjoy each other’s company, okay?  We like to hang out.”

“Hanging out horizontally.  On the same bed.”  Clint looked smug.  “Naked.”

“Bite me, Barton.”

“Is there a line?” Clint asked sweetly.

“Yeah, and you’re at the ‘fuck-you’ end of it,” Tony snapped.  He shook his head.  “Look, for the last time, what all these media morons are saying is wrong.  Steve and I are not, and never will be, dating.”

Natasha stood and strolled closer, walking with that walk she had, smirking with that same smirk she loved.  “I’ll believe _that_ when I see it, Stark.”

So that was how it started.  The media was all over this emerging story, so obsessed with it that it trended on Twitter for days.  _Everyone_ was talking about it.  It seemed to be all the rage with celebrity bloggers, fans of the Avengers, and political pundits alike (who were debating the impact of an openly gay superhero couple, one of whom being a national icon).  And the team…  _God._   They were the worst.  Every second of every minute Tony spent with them…  It was like open season on Tony.  Practical jokes and pranks and teasing had become pretty common among their little group as they’d all grown closer, transitioning from acquaintances who could barely stand to work together to a real team and friends and maybe even a family.  It was all done in good humor and with respect behind it; Tony knew that.  But, damn, they were ruthless, Clint and Thor especially.  Everything was an opportunity to make fun of Tony’s not-so-secret relationship with Steve.  Making smoochy faces at him and asking him about their “date” plans for the evening and wanting all the sweet details and coaxing Tony into kissing and telling.  It was brutal.

A couple days later, Steve came back from his mission.  Tony escaped to his workshop after another dinner with the others that had far too much ribbing ( _“So did the super soldier serum really enhance everything?”_ and _“considering how much fighting you guys used to do, the make-up sex must be exhausting”_ and _“Tony now pledges allegiance to dat ass of the United States of America”_ and _“man, I feel like we have a mom and dad now.  You two can battle over who is who.”_ )  They were like a bunch of freaking teenagers, and the meal couldn’t have ended fast enough.  Needless to say, finding Steve in his workshop, freshly showered and looking tired but no worse for the wear, was like finding salvation.  “Oh, thank freaking God.”

Steve obviously hadn’t been there long.  He had two bottles of Coke and a load of take-out.  “I brought Thai,” he said with a grin, holding up a paper bag that smelled absolutely delicious.  He took Tony’s look of dismay as something else.  “Did you already eat?  I was going to call but I thought it’d be a nice surprise.”

“No, no,” Tony said.  Frankly, he hadn’t had much to eat with the others, spending most of the meal angry and uncomfortable.  “I mean, yes, but I’m still hungry, so bring it on.”

Steve flashed a (downright beautiful) grin, getting out plastic plates and utensils.  “How much do you love me for this?”  That made Tony stop in his tracks and shock rush over him.  Steve took that wrong, too, his face falling into a concerned frown.  “What?  What’s the matter?”

Tony snapped out of it, getting himself under control and brushing aside Steve’s concerns.  “Eh, it’s nothing.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing,” Steve said.

“Some pap pictures of us came out while you were gone and everyone’s talking about it.”

That frown became more intense.  Tony’s gut tightened up in dread.  “Talking about it?”

There was no sense in lying.  It wasn’t like Steve wouldn’t find out.  Still, the thought of Steve being… _upset_ about it was really terrifying.  He didn’t want to lose what he had with Steve.  “Talking about us,” Tony clarified.  “You and me.  In a relationship.  Dating.”  The frown deepened even more.  “Yeah, I know.  It’s bullshit.  But these asshole photographers got pics of us at the game the other day and at the Met and all the other places we’ve been…  Like they’ve been tailing us, the fuckers.  And they published them and now it’s all over the internet.  People are drawing all sorts of stupid conclusions.”  Tony sighed heavily, plodded over in defeat and snatching a container of pad thai from the bag and a plastic fork.  Unceremoniously he plopped down on the couch and dug in.  “And the others are all over me, too.”

Steve shook his head.  “The others?”

Tony was shoveling food into his mouth with a vengeance.  “Making fun of me,” he said, his voice muffled by noodles and chicken.  “Of us.  They think this is hilarious.  I told them it wasn’t true and we’re not dating or whatever, but they won’t listen.  They’re having too much fun at my – our – expense.”

For a moment, Steve just stared at him.  Tony felt like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.  He tried to be nonchalant about it, eating more and more pad thai.  Christ, he was hardly even tasting it he was so agitated about the whole thing.

Then Steve finally moved.  He grabbed his own container of food, his bottle of Coke, and a fork before sitting next to Tony.  He started eating more carefully, thoughtfully, and the tense, awkward silence went on a moment more.  Finally, Steve sighed and settled more into the workshop’s couch.  “You know, it seems to me that we need to get even with them.”

That was not the response Tony had expected.  He stopped eating and cocked an eyebrow.  “With the team?”

Steve shrugged.  “Bucky always used to tell me that if someone is giving you a hard time, you give ’em a hard time right back.”  Tony stared, shocked, and Steve just smiled.  It was a devious one.  “They want to talk about us?  Let’s give them something to talk about.”

Of all the things he’d learned about Steve Rogers over the last few months, this was the fact Tony loved most: Steve Rogers was a little shit.  All his disquiet from the last couple days faded away, and Tony grinned mischievously back.  “What did you have in mind?”

Thus they made plans.  The next morning at breakfast, they put them into effect.  Apparently the team wasn’t brave enough to tease Steve (at least not to his face) because the meal went by a lot more quietly than it had over the last couple days.  Instead of immediately laying into Tony about his new boyfriend, Thor and Clint chatted about actual Avengers-related business.  They asked Steve about his mission and listened respectfully as their captain described it, asking questions where appropriate and being rather reserved about it all.  Tony sat back and drank his coffee and busied himself with his StarkPad.  It seemed to him the others were feeling Steve out, observing, trying to find out if it was safe to mention something.

And Steve, that beautiful, sneaky man, gave them bait they couldn’t refuse.  “Anyway, it’s a relief to be home.  I don’t like being away too long.”  He gave Tony a sweet, sincere smile.  “You know.  Hard to miss you guys.”

Clint slowly set the carafe of syrup back to the breakfast bar.  He glanced around to the others, Thor and Natasha and Bruce, like he was trying to glean some guidance or pressure them into asking the obvious.  “You miss all of us?”  That was fishing, sure as the sun.

Steve lured them right into the trap.  “Yeah, of course,” he said, lifting his own coffee cup to his lips.  He let that little hint that there was no relationship sink in a minute before swinging the other way.  Setting his cup down, he shrugged a bit, almost to himself.  “Well, mostly Tony.”

Everyone around the table went quiet.  Tony glanced up from his tablet (not that he’d been reading anything on it for the last however minutes) just to check their expressions.  They all looked… really surprised.  And confused.  Therefore, as much as they’d given Tony shit the last few days for his “relationship” with Steve, they obviously hadn’t really believed it could be possible that Captain America could be dating Iron Man.

That was going to make this all the sweeter.

“Anyway, I have to be going,” Steve said, wiping his mouth with his napkin before tossing it to his empty plate and standing from the breakfast bar.  “Got a debrief with Fury in thirty.  Lunch today, Tony?”

“Absolutely,” Tony said with an easy, nonplussed smile, drinking in the team’s utter shock.  It was glorious, Clint’s wide eyes and Thor’s open mouth and Bruce’s alarmed expression and Natasha’s narrowed gaze.

And Steve’s dazzling smile as he quickly rinsed and stacked his dishes at the sink.  “Wonderful,” he said, heading for the door.  “See you then, doll.”

It took all of Tony’s strength to keep his face calm and impassive – _Christ, he called me doll and that was really, really nice_ – while the rest of the Avengers watched their captain stroll from the room with just a bit of a spring in his step.  Slowly, agonizingly slowly, four pairs of shocked eyes turned to him.  It couldn’t have been more perfect.

Eventually, Natasha leaned back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest.  Her expression was sharp and suspicious.  “You’ve been claiming like crazy that you and the Cap weren’t seeing each other,” she evenly declared.  “Ever since those pictures showed up, you’ve been arguing that until you’re blue in the face.”

Now Tony gave a little, uncaring shrug.  “Eh.  I didn’t want to out Steve without at least checking with him first.  What kind of boyfriend would that make me?  Plus, gossiping about Captain America’s sex life behind his back seems kinda like treason.”

No one answered.  That was a _perfect_ opportunity to razz him or interrogate him, and they let it go.  In fact, Thor looked like his brain was melting, and Bruce’s expression was all pinched as if one of the fundamental laws of the universe had just been proven false.  Clint just seemed flabbergasted.  “You and Rogers are really sleeping together.  _Really?”_

“Really,” Tony said.

Thor shook his head.  “H-How long?” he murmured, clearly too flummoxed even to speak clearly.

“A while.  You know, months.”  Tony stood, taking his own dishes (not because he normally did since he paid people to do that, but because he was “dating” Steve and Steve’s “bad” habits were logically wearing off on him).  Then he headed toward the door.  He paused there to glance over his shoulder.  “Oh, and in answer to your question, Barton, he’s _dynamite_ in bed.”  He didn’t hold in his maniacal laugh at their jaws dropping to the floor, walking away and feeling utterly pleased with himself.

He and Steve continued with their little game for days after that.  First and foremost, they didn’t alter their schedule with each other in the least, hanging out at least as much as before.  Going out together in public was like throwing fuel on the fire, and now Tony was more purposeful about leaning into Steve or maybe accidentally touching his ass or making heart eyes, particularly when he knew someone was getting pictures of them.  Steve didn’t seem to mind his handsy-ness in the least; they’d done this fake dating thing enough times now for it to come fairly naturally.

Of course, they didn’t _say_ anything.  They didn’t confirm or deny their relationship, and the speculation whipped up into a beautiful firestorm of internet sensationalism.  It was glorious.  For the team, however, they went the extra, _extra_ mile.  They sat together, Tony practically on Steve’s lap, at every movie and game night.  They smiled at one another, all lovey-dovey.  There was hand-holding, little pecks on cheeks and foreheads, snuggling and cuddling.  Every sentence ended in an endearment, the sweeter the better.  It was _“Fury’s looking for you, babe”_ and _“you want to watch a movie, sweetheart?”_ and _“you sure you’re alright, darling?”_ and _“you’ve got robots on your six, honey.”_

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”  Clint lost it with that one, attacking said robots that were pummeling Chicago with renewed vengeance.  “Get a goddamn room!”

Tony laughed long and hard.

So they were getting the team back good.  And it was fun.  Frankly, it was more fun than it should have been.  The tormenting the others part was mighty fine, of course, but this… _game_ they were playing felt really nice.  Tony was actually surprised at how much he was enjoying it.  Normally he didn’t care for all this sentimental bullshit, but Steve was so honest and sincere with his acting, all those sunny smiles and gentle touches and the light of happiness in his eyes…  He was convincing more than just the other Avengers, which was stupid and foolish, because Tony knew this wasn’t real.  A part of him knew, anyway.  The logical, proud, _smart_ part.  But there was this little niggling thing inside him, quiet and subconscious and very, very faint, that was utterly sinking into contentment.  This was very nice, nice in a way he hadn’t anticipated.  Not that he could admit that to himself, but the truth was there nonetheless.  Fake dating Steve Rogers…  This time it felt good.

They were in the living room of Tony’s penthouse one night, preparing for their biggest trick on the team yet.  On the coffee table were a bunch of pizza boxes, most of which were empty.  Tony had long learned that Steve consumed more food than seemed humanly possible because of the serum.  He’d also learned that he liked watching him eat, enjoyed watching him explore new things in the twenty-first century (even though, months after the big thaw, there weren’t as many new things to explore).  He liked seeing Steve be full and satisfied.  Steve had said once during a nice dinner to which Tony had taken him that he and his mother had been very poor when he’d grown up.  He hadn’t been angry or resentful about that, simply stating it like a fact, like this was just how things had been.  Tony couldn’t fathom living in poverty.  He couldn’t fathom much about Steve’s youth, destitute and sick all the time and struggling to make something of himself.  Tony had been _given_ so much in his life, and he’d discovered weeks ago that he wanted to give everything he could to Steve.

At any rate, they’d chowed down on their pizza and watched some crime documentary on Netflix.  Steve seemed to really enjoy these shows.  Tony thought they were pretty boring, but he was more than willing to sit through it for Steve’s sake.  And they were working out the next morning, the details of their latest “act”.  “So you want to go out first or me?”

Tony tried to consider that, but his mind was elsewhere.  “I can, I guess.  You think I can give myself a hickey?”

Steve chuckled, finishing his bottle of beer.  “I suppose I could do that for you.”  Of course Steve, the ass, was saying stuff like that.  Stuff that bordered on taking this seriously.  Tony was starting to believe he was trolling him as much as they were trolling the team.  “You know, for appearance’s sake.”

“Pass, thanks,” Tony replied, even if his heart was beating just a bit faster and his hands were clammy with sweat.  “Speaking of appearances, we need to talk about something.”

“Shoot.”

This was what was bothering him.  He tried to be nonchalant as he broached the topic.  “I think this needs to be our final enactment of our fake relationship.”

Steve’s lips twitched.  Not that Tony was paying desperate attention to even the slightest movement Steve made where they were sitting side by side (and so close to touching but not, and that fraction of an inch felt like a light year).  And not that he wanted to believe that little twitch of Steve’s mouth was a frown.  Not at all.  “How come?” Steve asked.

Tony sighed.  “I guess _People_ magazine has been all over Pepper to do some sort of exclusive interview with both of us about coming out.”  Steve groaned.  “What?  The interview or coming out?”  That was fishing, but Tony didn’t care and couldn’t stop himself.

“The interview,” Steve replied, sinking more into the couch.  “I hate interviews.  And I’ll never be able to lie in one.”

“You’ve been doing a hell of a job so far.”

“Harder to lie with people I don’t know, I guess.  Weird but true.  Plus that feels like taking things too far, doesn’t it?”

“You can never take something too far.”

Steve chuckled but didn’t seem to read into that.  “No, the jig is up.  This’ll be the grand finale.”  He looked over at Tony.  “At least we’ll go out with a bang.”

Tony hummed in agreement.  He ached inside.  That felt weird and new and not at all pleasant.  “Yeah.”

There was an uncomfortable beat of silence.  “It’s been…  Well, it’s been fun,” Steve finally declared.  He’d gone back to staring blankly at the television, slumping and pliant.  His eyes were bright and warm in the dim light as he took another look at Tony.  “Really.”

 _Fun._   “Yeah, it has been,” Tony agreed, melting himself into the couch.  “Best fake dating I’ve ever done.”  He considered that a moment.  “Come to think of it, best dating, period.”

Steve squinted in confusion.  “Huh?”

“I’ve never dated much.”

“Even with all the people–”

“Just hook-ups.  One-night stands.”  Obviously Steve had been reading the tabloids too, at least enough to know about Tony’s long trail of conquests.  Tony shrugged.  “Hard to date in my situation.  There’s the whole trust issue, which is so much worse when you’re rich.  People only want you because of that.  Hard to know who likes you for you when you’ve got that problem.”

Steve didn’t say anything at first.  Tony felt his eyes on him.  “Sounds lonely,” he finally offered.

Tony grunted.  “Yeah.  But don’t feel too bad for me.  I’ve never wanted it, to be frank.  Never wanted anyone.  Never wanted love or anything long-term.  Having a good time with no strings attached is the way to go.  Commitment is too hard, and the life I’ve lived…  Either I was partying or making a mess of things or obsessing over my own shit and now…  Now what we do is too dangerous.  Hard to ask someone to be part of that.  Hard to share it, too.”

Steve shrugged clumsily.  “I suppose that’s true.”

“How about you?”  More fishing.  Tony couldn’t even be embarrassed that it was so obvious.

And Steve was being coy.  Or evasive.  “Me?”

“Yeah, you.”  Tony gave a cheeky grin.  “Was I a good fake boyfriend?”

Steve’s expression slipped into a rueful grin.  “You’re the best fake anything, because, well, you’re the only anything I’ve ever had.”

That came as a surprise, though Tony supposed it made sense.  In all the months they’d been working together, he’d never seen Steve with anyone else.  He’d never heard of Steve talk about anyone special.  He’d never even fathomed Steve _could_ be interested in anyone.  He knew about Peggy Carter, of course, but for some reason, it had never clicked with him, the possibility that scrawny, skinny Steve Rogers might have never had a date in his life.  “There’s never been anyone?”

Steve flushed a little in embarrassment.  “Not too many people were interested in someone like me before the serum.  And then after…”

“Wait.  Weren’t you on tour with a bunch of USO dancers?”

“Yeah.  A couple of them made moves, but…”  Steve shrugged again.  “Didn’t seem right.  Never felt right, either.  I don’t know.”  That rueful smile turned downright self-deprecating.  “Pretty pathetic, huh?”

 _Far from it._   What was pathetic was the fact that someone as amazing and kind and strong and brave and beautiful as Steve had never had _anyone_ look at him and see the truth.  And the truth wasn’t the once sickly exterior or the serum or even the symbol of Captain America.  The truth was the fact that underneath all that was a perfect heart and soul, and _no one_ had ever noticed it.

Of course, there came that tendency to hide behind his own barriers the moment feelings stirred in his heart, sure as the sun.  “Moderately pathetic.”  Steve knew him well enough now not to be insulted, tipping his head back on the couch and turning to glare at him lightly.  “Just makes you more of a catch, Cap.  When you do find someone.”

Steve smiled a little bit.  “You think so?”

“Sure.  I’ve fake dated you a few times now.  I should know.”  Steve laughed, and it sounded so good.  “Plus, I’m a genius.  I know everything.”

Steve’s laughter quieted to appreciative chuckles.  “You’re one of a kind, Tony.”

Months ago, Tony would have bristled at that old-timey-sounding crap coming out of Steve’s mouth.  Plus he would have been sure it was an insult rather than a compliment.  Now…  “Thanks.  You too, Steve.”

Then he turned his head to look at Steve, and Steve did the same at the same time, and they were so damn close.  It was cliched, comical, like some dumb scene from a rom-com, but it was actually happening, and Tony was utterly frozen.  Steve’s face was less than an inch away, so near his eyes were all Tony could see, waiting and wondering and surprised but not afraid, and his lips were parted and pink and soft-looking, and his breath was brushing lightly over Tony’s own mouth, and…

It’d take nothing to lean forward and kiss him.  _Nothing._

But the tense second escaped, and another after that.  And another.  And _another._   Neither one of them moved, neither closer nor further away, and everything felt to be at a standstill, like they were dangling together over a precipice, right on the edge with an incredible drop before them, and all it would take was a slight breeze to push them over together.

That breeze never came.  Steve leaned back finally and smiled, but the smile seemed sad more than anything else.  “Sorry,” he said.

Something tightened just a bit inside Tony’s chest.  “No problem, Cap.”

The next morning, they kicked their plan into gear.  Steve spent the night in Tony’s guest room, and he emerged in just his boxer briefs, looking sleepy and disheveled and, well, _debauched_ though they hadn’t touched once the whole time.  Even if it was for show (and how could it seem so real at that), the look was so damn delicious that Tony could hardly stand it.

But stand it he did, and they went forward.  Tony went out first, mussing up his hair and dressed in only a robe and his own underwear.  He made himself look sleepy and muzzy as he wandered into the communal kitchen.  “Mornin’,” he slurred.

The rest of the team was at the table, and they looked well-rested and marginally surprised to see Tony like this.  It wouldn’t have been the first time Tony had come in half-naked and mostly asleep in search of coffee.  “Late night, Stark?” Clint asked into his cup.

“You could say that.”

“You and Cap knocking boots?”

“I told you before: I don’t kiss and tell, Barton,” Tony said as he poured himself some coffee.

Thor played dumb.  He always did, as if living among humans for almost a year had taught him nothing of their culture and colloquialisms.  His feigned ignorance wasn’t very convincing (or endearing).  “Why would their boots require knocking?  Is this some sort of musical endeavor?”  Natasha rolled her eyes, and Clint shook his head, and Bruce sighed.  Thor exaggerated his “aha!” moment.  “Oh, yes.  I see now.  You refer to coitus.”  Then he frowned like he was genuinely confused.  “I must say, Stark, that even with your…  What is it you humans call it?”

“PDA,” Bruce supplied, returning to his morning paper.  “Public displays of affection.”

“Yes.  That.  Even with your overabundance of PDA, I have trouble believing that our captain–”

And then Steve went in for the kill.  Maybe he’d been listening in down the hall to the penthouse.  Maybe he just had ridiculous good luck.  Whatever the reason, that was when he chose to roll into breakfast, looking exactly as he had when Tony had left him.  Tony didn’t really turn to appreciate that, just stealing a glance when the team regarded _his_ entrance with complete stupefaction.  Steve yawned broadly, stretching a bit to show off his ridiculously toned chest that put Greek gods to shame, and went over to Tony.  Just as they’d discussed, he put his arms around Tony from behind, pressing as close as possible, and buried his face into the nape of Tony’s neck in a very affectionate, very intimate, very _telling_ gesture.  “Morning, love,” he murmured, loud enough for the others to hear.  “Thanks for last night.”  Then he shuffled off to get himself a coffee cup.

You could have heard a pin drop.

Which was, of course, the exact reaction they’d wanted.  And this was supposed to be where Tony broke out laughing and flaunting the truth in front of them, proudly proclaiming that none of this was real and they’d done it all for show and they’d fooled them and the team had had this coming for all the teasing and _the joke was on them._   He and Steve weren’t and wouldn’t ever date.

But it ended up being Steve who let the cat out of the bag, Steve who confessed, Steve who bent over laughing about the looks on the others’ faces, Steve who was telling them all about it, how he and Tony had worked together to make this happen.  Steve who was beaming and proud and happy to be on this end of the prank for once.

A loud peel of laughter from Clint snapped Tony from a daze.  Mentally he kicked himself.  He turned around, managed to put on a smile, managed to get into the conversation, and started taking the credit.  After all, this was sweet, sweet justice, for all the shit he’d taken over the last few days.  This was precious vengeance.

This was… _not_ what he wanted.  At all.  Barton was right about one thing: last night, Tony _had_ had a late night, but it had been because he couldn’t sleep.  He couldn’t shut his racing mind off, couldn’t find peace, couldn’t stop thinking about Steve.  Steve, who was so beautiful and smart and sassy.  Steve, who was still laughing, bright with elation, and, God, he looked perfect.  Steve, who _was_ perfect. 

Steve, who was just his friend.

No.  No, Tony wanted more.  He wanted his arms around him again.  He wanted Steve’s face back against his neck.  He wanted him purring in his ear.  He wanted to be the reason Steve looked so loose and sated and _happy._   Tony _wanted._

And Tony wished he’d kissed him last night.

But it was all over, and everyone was talking and laughing and moving on already, and Tony could only wonder if the joke had actually been played on him.


	5. The Hospital

The call came in a little after midnight.  JARVIS woke Tony from where he’d dozed off at his workbench, the soft, worried proclamation of _“Captain Rogers has been gravely wounded”_ cutting through the haze of slumber lightning-quick.  Before he was even thinking twice, Tony was up, staggering through his bots and tool chests and inventions, and stumbling to the alcove where he kept his suits.  Iron Man was around him in a split second, and he was rocketing through the night sky, zooming across the Atlantic.

Details were scarce.  JARVIS told him what little he knew as Tony urged all the speed he could from the suit’s thrusters.  He was flying fast enough that warnings were blaring on the HUD and JARVIS was sputtering his concerns while trying to relay the few facts.  The _very_ few facts.  Steve had been away on assignment for SHIELD; that had been happening more and more of late, so much so in fact that SHIELD had set up an apartment for him down in DC.  He’d been staying there off and on, much to Tony’s chagrin.  He was sometimes gone for days and days, even a week here and there, and their close friendship…  Well, it had suffered, though not from lack of trying on either of their parts.  Separate lives and separate responsibilities were getting in the way of everything, and it had been like this fun, vibrant, _awesome_ thing was just… dying.

And now Steve was hurt.  _Steve’s hurt._   JARVIS explained he’d been sent to the Mediterranean off the coast of Northern Africa, dealing with some particularly nasty and violent pirates.  The fight had gone south, and the STRIKE Team had been overwhelmed.  The AI didn’t know much more than that.  Romanoff had called Stark Tower and let them know SHIELD was med-evaccing Steve via quinjet to a civilian hospital in London, and that things were bad, so bad he wouldn’t survive the transport back to the helicarrier.

_Steve’s really hurt._

Tears blurred Tony’s vision.  His heart was pounding, a cold sweat covering him, and he was terrified in a way he couldn’t ever remember feeling before.  His brain was misfiring, utterly failing him, and all he could think was the same thing: _Steve’s hurt Steve’s hurt Steve’s hurt–_

_I need to get there._

JARVIS took control of the suit’s flight systems directly and navigated him.  The sky was black without stars, and the ocean was black beneath him, and it felt a lot like flying through an abyss.  Tony forced down his horror, racing onward until the lights of England appeared.  Locating the hospital was easy enough.  Iron Man landed with a thud on the vacant helipad – _are they here already?_ – and the armor instantly unfolded around him.  JARVIS set it to sentry mode.  Tony pressed his earbud in deeper, like that could make JARVIS clearer and easier to understand.  “Tell me where!”

“Through the fire escape doors, sir, and down to the first floor.  They brought him in through the emergency department.”

Tony took off in a run, banging through the outer doors and racing inside the building.  He didn’t bother waiting for the elevator, instead bounding down the stairs in a complete panic.  More than once he nearly tripped and fell, but he kept his feet beneath him, kept his wits about him enough to charge out onto the first floor and follow the signs.

The hospital was a labyrinth of beige and taupe walls and glass sliding doors and white tile.  He ran through the maze and finally rushed into the emergency department.  There were SHIELD agents and soldiers everywhere in a state of barely controlled chaos.  In the alcoves of the huge area, doctors and nurses were treating members of the STRIKE Team.  Tony frantically scanned each spot for Steve, but he didn’t find him and didn’t recognize anyone.  He raced onward, searching and searching and growing more and more frantic, until he finally heard someone calling his name.  Ripping around, he saw Romanoff walking quickly toward him.  She was still in her tac suit, and she looked bruised and harried and very worried.  “Stark,” she gasped.

“Where’s Steve?” Tony demanded, raising his voice to be heard over the din.  “What happened?  Where is he?”

Natasha was trying to seem impassive, but Tony knew her well enough to see the terror in her eyes.  That frightened him more than anything.  If _she_ was scared…  “Steve’s in surgery,” she answered, taking his arm and pulling him closer.  “They took him up right away.”

Tony could hardly hear her.  He could hardly _think._   “Is he okay?”

She didn’t answer that at first, which was an answer in and of itself.  “He’s alive,” she finally managed.  The room spun as she led him to a quieter corner.  “He’s alive.  They’re going to keep him that way.”

 _Oh, God._   The vertigo got worse.  Tony was certain he’d pass out.  He probably would have if not for Natasha’s grip on his arm.  His mind twisted and twisted through the same awful thoughts.  _Steve’s hurt.  He’s hurt bad enough that he could die.  He’s hurt bad enough that they couldn’t bring him home.  He’s hurt._

_I should have been there!_

“Our intel was all wrong.”  Natasha’s soft voice drew him from the storm inside.  He could barely make himself focus on her.  Her pallor was striking, particularly in the harsh fluorescent light of the ER, and it made the bruises look worse.  Her eyes were glazed, and Tony could feel her shaking.  He’d never seen her like this before.  “They were waiting for us, and the second we got there they ambushed us.  It was a trap.  I think they wanted…”  She struggled for a second.  “I think they were trying to kill Captain America.  They were all over Steve from the start, and he got separated from the rest of us, and…”

“And what?” Tony breathlessly asked.  She glanced at him and then looked down, horrified and ashamed.  _“What?”_

“He got shot,” she finally explained.  “A dozen times.  Maybe more.”

Tony couldn’t breathe.  He felt sick, his stomach knotting up, his heart breaking in his chest.  “Oh, fuck…” he whispered.  “Fuck!”

“We couldn’t get to him.  They cut us off, had him trapped down in the cargo hold of the ship, and they had snipers above and miniguns and some of them were down in there with him, too, and he was fighting and they were shooting and…”  She didn’t finish, looking down again.  “I’m so sorry.”

Tony didn’t know what to say.  It didn’t happen often (or at all really), but his mind was utterly blank.  The constant stream of rapid thoughts and ideas, the inner monologue of his life, had gone sharply silent, like nothing had come before this moment and nothing would come after it.

Nothing would if he lost Steve.

There was activity around him, but he didn’t take much note of it.  Clint arrived, and Fury, and they were arguing.  The sound of their heated, frightened words pounded through Tony’s skull.  Somehow the small group of them ended up in the waiting room of the surgical ward.  Someone led him to an uncomfortable chair, and he was pretty sure he sat.  Someone gave him coffee to drink, and he vaguely recalled the stale taste of it.  Someone was talking, calmer this time, and he had this cloudy idea that he should pay attention, but he didn’t.  He was detached and dissociated and existing but not letting anything inside him.  He was utterly numb. 

Some time later (it could have been an eternity for all Tony was aware), a couple doctors, one from SHIELD and another local physician, came into the waiting area.  Tony sprung to his feet, snapping from his stupor.  His heart started pounding again, and his lungs seized, and all he could do was murmur, “Is he okay?”

The SHIELD doctor sighed wearily.  “He should be.”

It was like this noose that had been slowly strangling him suddenly loosened.  Tony could breathe again.  He closed his eyes and nearly collapsed.  The doctor was talking, going over Steve’s injuries, explaining how close they’d come to losing him but how the serum was already starting to heal him.  He’d lost a great deal of blood, though, and suffered some serious internal damage.  He’d need some time to recover.  He was still unconscious, still intubated, and still receiving a massive blood transfusion, but if things continued to improve over the next twenty-four hours, everything would be fine.

_It’s going to be fine._

“When can I see him?” Tony blurted frantically.

The doctor from the hospital frowned.  He seemed a little intimidated and a lot unhappy to be dealing with SHIELD and the Avengers.  “Usually we don’t allow visitors into the ICU who aren’t family.”

“He doesn’t have any blood relatives,” Clint said.  “We’re his family.”

The doctor frowned.  “Do you have legal documentation stating that?”  No one answered.  Tony had no idea if anything like that existed.  The world hazed again, and Fury mentioned something about proxy information SHIELD had on file for Steve.  Tony doubted it’d say anything about letting him in to be with him.  “Well…” the doctor said with a sigh.  “We’ll see what can be done.”

After that, it was back to waiting.  Before it had been a blur and time had held no meaning.  Now everything was sharp and awful, and every second felt endless.  Tony sat and looked around and drank more shitty coffee and called the Tower for updates on tracking the pirates who’d done this to Steve (he’d gotten JARVIS started on that right away).  Mostly, though, he paced and paced and _paced_.  This was torture, unbearable and unending.  The others came and went, attending to SHIELD business and the like.  This was a major issue, what had happened on the mission, and heads were going to roll.  Eventually both Natasha and Clint were summoned by Fury and the World Security Council for a debrief, and they angrily went off when Tony promised he’d stay put.

And he did, but this left him alone, and he was rapidly running out of patience.  He’d walked the length of this tiny, hellish prison cell over and over again, getting more agitated every time he turned around to find the nurses at the main desk sitting and quietly chatting and working at the computers.  It was driving him mad, his worry and anxiety and fear, and all he wanted to do was see Steve.  More than once (okay, more than a dozen times probably) he stalked over to the nurses and demanded information.  They didn’t seem intimidated, not by his increasingly aggravated tone or by who he was (and they had to have recognized him).  And their answer was always the same: “we’ll let you know as soon as we know, sir.”

Fucking torture.

A couple hours later, the same hospital doctor came back into the ER bearing a few folders that he dropped into a bin on the desk.  Tony pounced on him.  “Where’s Captain Rogers?  You said I could see him.”

The nurses shared a long-suffering look with the surgeon, and the man sighed.  “Mr. Stark, please, we have policies–”

“Screw your policies,” Tony said.  “I need to see him!”

“SHIELD is all over the hospital as it is,” the doctor said in irritation.  “There’s already far too much commotion, too many people in the ICU, and we have other patients who deserve privacy.  Then there’s the matter of Mr. Rogers’ privacy as well.”

“He’s not going to care,” Tony argued.  “And it’s Captain Rogers.”

The doctor didn’t seem to hear him.  “Once Mr. Rogers stabilizes further, we can move him to a less critical area or transfer him back to SHIELD or the States–”

“Oh, come on,” Tony moaned.  “You know who I am.  I can – I’ll pay you.”  That sounded pathetic and not quite legal, but Tony was too panicked to care.  “I’ll donate to the hospital.  I have the money; you know I do.  I can help you guys out.  Just please.”

The doctor sighed.  “I can’t do anything at the moment.  It’s not our policy.  Only family members or documented legal medical proxies.”  Tony wanted to scream.  “As soon as I can do something for you, I will.  Excuse me.”  And the guy rushed off, probably just to escape the conversation.

Tony wanted to scream.  This was fucking ridiculous.  He stood still, practically trembling with anger and frustration, trying to _think_.  He could somehow forge some documents for Steve, that showed Steve had named Tony his proxy or some such, but that also didn’t seem quite (or at all) legal.  He could go above the doctor’s head to hospital management; with all his power and the lawyers he had at his disposal, he could make that guy’s life a living hell if he had to.  Hell, he could just _take_ Steve back to the States once he stabilized.  How could these people stop him?

That wasn’t kidnapping, was it?

All these ideas were ridiculous.  Softly growling, he just moved, just impulsively headed back to the nurse’s desk, and did _something_.  “I didn’t want to have to reveal this, but you guys are leaving me no choice.  Steve’s my…  He’s my fiancé.”

_What the hell am I doing?_

The nurse looked up at him, incredulous.  “Sir?”

And Tony went all in.  He was too scared and desperate to do anything else.  “We’re keeping things under wraps.  All that stuff in the media a couple weeks ago?  I know it happened across the pond, but you guys had to have coverage here.  All the stuff about the two of us dating.”

The other nurses were listening now.  A couple of them nodded, wide-eyed and surprised and Tony wondered if he was making a mistake but there was no turning back now.  “Well, it’s all true.  Steve and I are involved – well, more than involved.  We’re engaged.  We just got engaged before he left for this mission and – and – please.”  The nurse frowned.  “Please let me see him.  I need to see him.  I – I love him so much.”

That came surprisingly easy.

“I have to be with him.”  His voice shook, cracked it was so thick with emotion, and he didn’t even have to force that.  It wasn’t all that fake.  “ _Please._   I’m all he has.  I love him, and he loves me, and I need to be in there at his side and I–”

“Okay, Mr. Stark,” the closest nurse said with a long breath, raising her hand to still him.  She gave a sad, compassionate smile, and touched his arm.  “Okay.  I’m so sorry.  We didn’t realize.  Come with me.”

 _Oh, thank God._ Tony nearly sobbed in relief.  The nurse came around the desk and led him back deeper into the hospital.  She used her ID to open the secured area and took him into the ICU.  The doctor hadn’t been kidding; it was crawling with SHIELD soldiers and agents, all there to protect Captain America who’d fallen on their watch.  Tony felt nothing but disdain for the lot of them.

His anger was quickly overcome by fear and worry as he was directed to a room in the back of the small area.  This was a tad quieter and more secluded.  The nurse opened the door for him.  “Please be quiet and don’t touch anything,” she advised.

Tony nodded automatically.  Steve was right there in the hospital bed.  As the doctor had said, he was still intubated, a plastic tube taped between his slack, bruised lips and held in place down his throat to breathe for him.  Numerous bags of blood were hanging from the IV poles, pouring life-saving fluid into his body.  He was beaten, battered, and covered in bloody bandages, so pale and utterly unmoving.  He looked dead, and had it not been for the monitors near the bed tracking his vitals and his chest slowly, rhythmically rising and falling, Tony might have thought he was.  It was horrifying.

Somehow Tony wasn’t that scared, at least not enough that he couldn’t function.  He knew why he was here, what he needed to do.  Sniffling, he made his way to the bed and pulled the lone, plastic chair closer.  There he sat, and he took up Steve’s hand in his own and settled in to wait.

Surprisingly, no one really bothered him.  The ICU nurses were frequently in the room, but their whole demeanor had changed.  Their words were soft and encouraging, comfort spoken to someone whose loved one was seriously hurt.  Tony supposed he should have been ashamed, but he wasn’t.  He just took their advice and solace with a grateful smile and kept his vigil.  Even the doctor who’d been so rude before said he was sorry for not realizing Tony was Steve’s fiancé and refusing to allow him entrance.  He said he should have made the connection after all the talk in the media over the last few weeks, but it was always so hard to know the truth.  He even apologized for forcing Tony to reveal their “secret” and swore it would be kept private.  Tony smiled and accepted everything he said.  That was a bit of a dick thing to do; after all, he’d lied, and he’d unilaterally decided to lie, and he _wasn’t_ anything more to Steve than his friend.  Still.  They were just friends.

As Tony sat there, holding Steve’s hand and whispering that everything would be okay, he realized he didn’t want to be just friends anymore.  He finally let himself accept that.

Hours slipped away.  Tony held fast.  They never asked him to leave, despite the fact that he was pretty sure he was breaking the rules even more.  He didn’t think he could leave even if he wanted to.  The only thing that mattered now was Steve and the steady beep of the computers monitoring his pulse and the equally steady swish of the ventilator breathing for him.  The doctors hadn’t given any indication of how things were progressing when they came to check on his wounds.  Other than the blood draining into Steve’s body, not much was changing.  Tony supposed that was a good thing, but this grotesque stasis was infuriating.  He forced himself to stay calm, though.  He kept promising Steve things would be okay, that all they had to do was hang on and everything would get better.  He’d be a hypocrite not to believe that himself.

As dawn approached, the pulmonologist decided Steve’s situation was stable enough to take him off the respirator.  Tony foolishly expected Steve to wake up the second they did that.  He didn’t of course, but this was the first time in hours that there was measurable improvement.  With Steve breathing on his own, Tony settled in to continue his vigil alone.  “You know,” he began, taking a deep breath against the powerful swell of emotion inside, “I meant to tell you before you left, but I was thinking about turning the back room of my workshop into an art studio for you.  You’re always there sketching, so I thought that’d be nice.  Formalize that.  What do you think?”

Steve didn’t respond.  His face was waxy with illness, but the laxness was the most upsetting aspect.  There was perhaps a tad more color to his cheeks.  Perhaps.  He was breathing on his own through dry, parted lips, breathing slowly and evenly and easily enough.  But he wasn’t moving and he wasn’t waking up.  Tony rubbed his palm over the back of Steve’s hand.  He hadn’t let go of him for even a second, not unless he had to.  It was silly and self-important, but he felt like he was holding Steve here, anchoring him, helping him find his way back.  He grunted a chuckle.  “You’re an asshole for scaring me like this.  I was worried for months that this could happen.  You’re through with SHIELD, by the way.  No more missions like this.  I don’t care if that’s controlling.  I’m making the call on this one.”

Still no answer.  The early light of dawn worked its way over Steve’s face.  Even like this, he was beautiful.  Tony could only stare, committing every detail of how Steve looked to memory.  He sighed, weaving their fingers together tighter.  “I…  I don’t know when this happened,” he admitted.  The confession was coming now, and he couldn’t stop it.  He didn’t want to.  “I don’t know when…  God, I couldn’t stand you.  When we met, I just couldn’t.  I hated you, hated what you stand for, hated that we had to work together.  Everything in the beginning was a struggle.  Then…  I don’t know.  Everything we’ve done, everything we’ve been through…  Everything’s changed, and I…  I think I fell for you.”  He shook his head, staring at where he held Steve’s hand.  “God, I’ve fallen for you, Steve.”

It was silent.  Tony looked up after that soft declaration, but Steve was still sleeping.  Of course he would be.  “And I have to find a way to tell you.  So you have to wake up and get better.  You have to get better, so I can tell you the truth.  I’m promising myself that right now, Steve.  I promise you and me both that I’m going to tell you how I feel.  When you wake up and come home.  When you come back to me.”  He stood, taking Steve’s hand with him, and gently kissed his forehead.  “I’m here, and I’m ready.”

Steve’s fingers twitched and tightened around his.


	6. The Date

Despite how excited (and nervous) Tony was to finally come clean about how he felt, it took some time for him to actually create the perfect moment.  Of course, part of the delay came from the fact that another couple days passed before Steve recovered enough to be transported back to the States.  Even though he was out of the woods, he was still very weak, and even another few days after coming home, he was pretty well confined to bed.  That was fine, because he spent most of that time sleeping.  The serum was working hard healing him, regenerating new skin and damaged muscle, so his body required the rest.  The medical staff was taking excellent care of him (Tony made sure of that – SHIELD had offered to bring in their own physicians and nurses, but Tony had flat-out refused.  He’d handle Steve’s needs, thank you very much).  They’d been on top of it all, helping him bathe and shave and brush his teeth, changing his bandages, ensuring his comfort, trying to ease his hurts, and providing for his every desire, so he was making steady progress.

The serum was absolutely incredible.  Steve had been shot more than twelve times.  These were injuries that would have killed a normal man (a fact that still made Tony feel ill with anger and worry). The sheer amount of damage and blood loss had been devastating.  Still, not long after he’d overcome the worst of the pain and fatigue, he was up and moving around again.  Nurses and doctors were replaced with physical therapists.  One of the bullets had struck close to his spinal column and had caused some damage, enough to require surgical repair and to result in some motor difficulties.  Again, though, the serum was a miracle elixir, and with some hard work (with which the team helped him every step of the way) Steve was back on his feet and walking in no time.

A couple weeks later, the worst was behind them.  JARVIS had tracked down the pirates and SHIELD had gone after them with a vengeance.  Natasha and Clint had led the mission, and the threat had been utterly vanquished, a fact which they’d told Steve with no small amount of guilt behind their words.  Steve waved off their shame and absolved them quickly.  He was fine and would be fine, he said.  And he was.  He was back to taking care of himself, back to staying alone in his suite, and pretty much self-sufficient.  He’d been placed on medical leave at SHIELD (and if Tony had his way, that leave would become permanent retirement), with strict instructions to rest and take everything slow and easy.  Surprisingly enough, he was.  He’d been very quiet, very sedate, since coming home.  Not depressed, per se, but pensive and a bit withdrawn, like the enormity of how serious the situation had been, of how _close_ he’d come to dying, was really sinking in.  Tony didn’t like that, that Steve seemed to be hurting emotionally now that the physical agony was receding.

Therefore, Tony needed to get this right, and that was the other reason it was taking time.  He wanted to tell Steve the truth about everything, about how things had changed, about what he’d realized in that hospital room while Steve had been so hurt.  He was scared shitless of doing that, to be frank.  Handling emotions, his own as well as other people’s, had never been a strong suit of his.  He didn’t want to screw this up.  It was too important.  This had to be everything Steve deserved, and Steve deserved _everything._

So Tony took his time (well, as much as his anxious heart would permit).  He considered all his options.  Taking Steve out somewhere seemed like a good idea at first.  After being cooped up in the Tower, surely he’d like to get away for a bit.  But that didn’t _feel_ right.  They’d done so much in the public eye already, and on top of that, rumors about their relationship were circulating again (Tony wasn’t sure if one of the nurses or doctors from the London hospital actually had blabbed about his little white lie, but however it had happened, #CapIronMan was trending again).  He didn’t want to have to deal with (or feed) a media frenzy, so maybe staying in would be better.

As he considered that, he liked it more and more.  That would be better, easier for Steve during his recovery, and more private and intimate.  So he picked the night, ordered Steve’s favorite foods, and set to turning his penthouse into the perfect spot for nice dinner.  Like a stupid, lovestruck teenager, he also spent a fair amount of time getting himself ready.  He’d never cared about this before, never given a damn how he looked for anyone but himself, but he wanted to look good for Steve.  He needed to look good for Steve.  He tried on different suits, different polos and blazers and slacks, before nervously deciding to dress as he normally did.  Steve didn’t know about his plans and would surely not be prepared for them, so simple was probably better.  Tony spent too much time trying to get his hair to cooperate (which was, again, usually a nonissue, but right now he couldn’t get it to look right).  Then was the internal debate: cologne or no cologne?  Steve never really wore cologne that Tony had noticed, so in keeping with trying to maintain an air of normalcy, he opted to skip it.

When he was done, he just… looked like himself on any given day.  Jeans and a tee over a thermal, long-sleeved shirt.  Nothing more or less.  That was comforting in a way but distressing as hell, too.  What if he was all wrong about this?  What if he threw himself out there and Steve didn’t feel the same?  What if Steve _didn’t_ want him and all of this – the make-believe couples thing they’d done for the aliens all those months ago and how relieved Steve had looked that night at the gala when Tony had swooped in to save him and the tender concern in his eyes after they’d been kidnapped by those idiots and how close they’d come to kissing a few weeks back…  What if all of that was really fake?  What if Tony was reading into something that wasn’t there, convincing himself that he had a chance when he really didn’t?

_You won’t know unless you try._

He had no idea what he was doing.

But he found himself at the door of Steve’s suite all the same.  The walk there had been an uncharacteristic blur of nerves and excitement and fear, so intense he hadn’t had a chance in hell of figuring out what to say.  It was too late now, because apparently he’d already told JARVIS to alert Steve he was there, and Steve was opening the door.

Steve looked… tired.  That was a good word for it.  His face was a tad gaunt and haggard, his eyes a little dark with bags beneath them, and he wasn’t standing as straight as he normally did.  Maybe this wasn’t a good time for this.  “I can come back,” Tony immediately offered.

“No,” Steve answered, smiling gently.  “No, it’s okay.”  His eyes swept over Tony, and Tony wondered if he’d screwed up with how he was dressed after all.  “Were we supposed to meet or something tonight?”

“No.  Well, we didn’t plan anything, but I thought maybe…”  _Play it cool, Stark._   This was pathetic.  He’d never asked someone out on a date in his life.  He’d never had to.  “Maybe you’d like to come up for dinner?  I already have it coming.”

Steve winced, and Tony’s heart plummeted.  “I’m kinda beat.  The PT folks worked me hard in the gym today.  Just took a shower and I was thinking of going to bed.”

 _No._   Steve’s hair was a bit damp, and he was dressed in SHIELD issue sweatpants and a white t-shirt.  He really did look ready to collapse.  “It’s not even seven o’clock,” Tony declared.  “Did you eat?”

“No, but I’m not–”

“You need to eat.  Your body needs the calories.”

“I know.  I meant to.  I just–”

“I’ll bring you down the food,” Tony declared.  “You should eat.  You know what the doctors said.”  They’d been all over Steve to increase his calorie-intake.  He already ate more than an average person thanks to the serum, and with his injuries, his increased metabolism was in overdrive.  The worry inside morphed from embarrassment to protectiveness, and Tony turned back down the hallway.  “I’ll be right back.”

“No, no, Tony, wait.”  Steve reached out and took his arm, stopping him.  Tony nearly jerked in excitement from the simple contact.  Steve offered a fond, appreciative smile.  “It’s fine.  I’ll come up.  I’ve got some more in me today.”

“Really?”  Tony’s heart skipped a beat.  He had to force himself to get past his relief and keep talking.  “You – um – you don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

Tony smiled like a damn loon, too elated to control it.  “Okay, great.  Come on.”

They headed up to the penthouse.  The whole time, Tony’s heart pounded and pounded.  _This is happening._   That was all Tony could think.  _This is really happening._   Steve was quiet, favoring his right side as he stood there, and Tony’s concern for him started to dampen his euphoria and excitement.  He considered having JARVIS take the lift back down and getting Steve to bed himself.  It was selfish to insist this when Steve clearly wasn’t well yet.

But then Steve said, “I was actually just thinking about you.  Didn’t see you much today.  Missed having you at lunch.”

Tony had had crap to do for Stark Industries most the morning and early afternoon, and then he’d been consumed with preparing for the dinner.  “Sorry.  I was busy,” he said, genuinely feeling guilty.

“No, no.  It’s fine.  Glad you came by is all.  Nat and Clint and Thor are great, but they’ve been treating me like I’m about to break.  They’re all over me constantly.  Gets tiring.  No matter how many times I tell them I’m fine, they don’t listen.”

Sympathetically Tony nodded.  He knew what it was like to have people fretting over you, how smothering it could be.  He also knew that when someone truly cared, that sort of behavior was rarely without reason.  Pepper always became rather controlling when she was truly concerned.  Tony had been rather protective and dominating himself these last couple weeks with Steve so badly hurt.  “They mean well,” he offered.

Steve’s Adam’s apple bobbed so hard it seemed like he was swallowing down a rock.  “I know,” he managed.  That seemed overly strained, like there was a great of emotion bottled up behind the soft words, and Tony grew more concerned.  Before he could say anything, though, the elevator doors opened, and Steve was limping through the penthouse.

Tony had almost forgotten how things looked, how he’d arranged it all.  JARVIS had dimmed the lights in the dining area.  The autumnal sun was already setting through the expansive windows, creating a warm, golden hue that coated everything.  The table was set for two.  Looking at it now, he couldn’t help but cringe.  There was nothing platonic about how it had been arranged.  There were candles, fancy napkins, expensive dinnerware atop a pristine, white tablecloth.  The table itself wasn’t very big, so they’d be close as they sat across from each other.  It was cozy and quiet and romantic.

That last part was starkly clear.  This was meant to be _romantic._

Steve looked confused.  “Tony?” he murmured.

And Tony started babbling.  “Okay, so, I wanted to give you a nice dinner.  Something you really like.  Got your favorites.  Steak from Delmonico’s.  Pasta from Volaire’s.  Salad from downstairs and fresh bread from the bakery down the street…  Oh, and tiramisu.  You love tiramisu.”  He sighed, jittery and trying to control it.  “I just wanted you to have something nice, you know?  You’ve been through some not so pleasant shit recently, and I wanted to help you escape for a moment.  I thought we could go out – do you want to go out?  I mean, I decided not to because of what happened, but that’s not my decision to make.  So…”  He just stopped.  None of that was what he wanted to say.

And Steve picked up on that immediately.  “I don’t understand.  This is…”

“A date,” Tony finished.  Boldly he summoned some courage and went on.  “A _real_ date.  I, um…”  Steve’s eyes were ridiculously bright in the dying daylight, and he was staring with an inscrutable look on his face.  Aside from the surprise, Tony couldn’t make heads or tails of it.  It was now or never, though.  He’d come this far, committed, and now he had to see it through.  “I – I don’t know when it happened.  I don’t know what it means.  I don’t know how or why, even.  I just know…  I – I need you, Steve.  I need you in my life.  I need you as my friend, but I…  I want you as more.”

Steve said nothing.  He was just staring at the table for two, at everything Tony had set up for him, blank and seemingly lost.  Tony didn’t like that at all and almost lost his nerve.  Once more, he surged on, reaching out a shaking hand and touching Steve’s arm.  He let his fingers drift down a bit to took Steve’s hand in his own.  “Somewhere, somehow, through all the stuff we’ve been through…  All the times we had to fake being more than we were.  Somehow we _became_ more than we were.  I know that sounds crazy!  I wish I could understand it myself, because then maybe I could explain it, but I can’t.  I can only say that I – I know I said I didn’t want anyone, that I never wanted anyone, that I didn’t want love, but love found me anyway.  Love found me, because you found me.”  Tony could hardly breathe.  He stared at Steve’s face.  “Somewhere…  Somewhere with all the fake dating and fake relationship and fake this and that…  Somewhere I fell in love with you for real.  I love you, Steve.”

Still Steve was silent.  He hadn’t so much as twitched.  Tony’s heart was breaking.  He’d never felt so vulnerable and foolish, and he hid how much it hurt and frightened him with a trembling smile.  “So, um…  You want to go on this date with me?”

All the sudden Steve gave a choked sob and let go of Tony’s hand.  _Oh, God!_   Panic made the room twist around Tony, and he lurched forward, grabbing Steve’s arm, terrified Steve was hurt.

But Steve was smiling through his tears, really smiling for the first time in days.  “I was so scared,” he managed with hitching breaths.

Tony tugged him closer, leading him to the couch in the nearby seating area.  “Scared?”

Steve nodded.  He sank onto the couch, clutching Tony’s hands, trembling like mad.  He looked up with wet, bright eyes.  “When I was trapped down in that ship, and the others couldn’t get to me, and they were shooting at me…  And I got hit.  I thought I was going to die, and I was afraid.”

Shaking his head, Tony crouched in front of him.  “That’s normal.  Even you are allowed to get scared, you know.”

“No, no,” Steve murmured, his smile slipping some.  “I was afraid because I – I didn’t want to leave you.”  Tony’s heart stilled in his chest.  He watched in awe as Steve struggled with his emotions a moment.  “I was afraid of never seeing you again.  And never telling you…  Never telling you how much I love you, too.  I love you!”

The warmth that rushed over Tony was indescribable.  “Steve…”

“You’ve…  You’ve done so much for me!  You gave me food and clothes and a purpose.  You gave me a place to stay, but you turned it into a home.  You taught me everything I needed to know, showed me how to live in this time, and I…  You became my friend, Tony, and I needed that so badly.  You didn’t have to be, but you did, you have been so good to me, and I need you.  I need you!”

“Steve, honey, God…”

“And it’s crazy, because I’ve been hurt bad before.  But when I crashed the plane, and the water was flooding the cockpit and I was freezing and I _knew_ this was going to be it, I wasn’t scared like that.  I wasn’t scared of – of _losing_ something.  Someone.”  Steve shook his head, tears streaming down his cheeks.  “Not like I was afraid of losing you.  And when I opened my eyes at the hospital and you were there…  I was so relieved.  I hadn’t lost you.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Tony soothed, reaching up to brush Steve’s hair from his forehead.

“I think I dreamed when I was sleeping,” Steve admitted in a quiet whisper.  “I dreamt I told you that I wanted you, and you were there because you knew that and knew to come.”

“I knew I had to come,” Tony agreed, “and I was there because I told everyone we were getting married.”

That gave Steve pause.  His watery eyes crinkled in confusion.  “Huh?”

Tony gave a little chuckle.  “Well, I figured fake dating had worked for us before a few times.”

Steve responded with a soft smile, taking Tony’s hand where it was hovering at the side of his face.  Then he pressed it closer to his wet cheek with a sigh.  “I dreamed we were together.  But when I woke up, we weren’t, and it just… _hurt._   And I didn’t know what to do.  I wanted you, and I was scared I couldn’t have you, and that I’d imagined all of it–”

“No, you didn’t,” Tony assured.  “I’m here, and I’m yours, Steve, yours if you want me.  Yours if–”

He couldn’t finish, because Steve leaned forward.  A shadow of a wince passed over his face, but he was determined, and his mouth met Tony’s in a searing kiss.  Surprise had Tony reeling a moment – he’d dreamed about this _so much_ and now _it was really happening_ – before he wrapped his arms around Steve and kissed him back.  Steve’s lips were every bit as soft as Tony had always imagined, his mouth warm and inviting.  For all the passion and desperation, it was pretty obvious Steve had no idea what he was doing.  He was simply frantic, fumbling, opening his mouth and kissing gracelessly, and Tony pulled away to hush him gently.  “I’m here,” he promised.  He cupped Steve’s face.  “Something tells me we’re meant for each other, Steve Rogers.”

Steve shivered, leaning into Tony.  “You think so?”

“Remember?  Genius.  I know everything.”

Steve’s chuckle was a pleasant rumble against his lips.  Tony swept his thumb over Steve’s cheekbone, staring into his tired eyes, and then leaned forward to kiss him again.  Steve was slower about it this time, letting Tony lead, opening his mouth to Tony’s gently probing tongue.  Tony was slow and careful too, taking his time, sweeping his tongue over Steve’s lips and across his teeth, and when he pulled back, Steve’s eyes were closed and he looked thoroughly well-kissed.  Tony chuckled.  “You want to have dinner?”

Steve answered that by kissing him again.  Tony was only human, and with Steve insistent against his mouth and his hands tentatively exploring his chest and possessively pulling him closer, he succumbed, pinning Steve just a bit on the couch to kiss him harder and harder.  “Or not.  That’s fine, too.”

Steve’s lips pulled away for second.  “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he whispered into Tony’s throat.  His teeth scraped lightly there, and – _God_ – that sent heat shooting straight to Tony’s groin.

Tony threaded his hands through Steve’s hair.  This, too, was just like he’d imagined, every bit as thick and silky as it he’d always dreamed.  “That’s a first,” he commented.  Steve groaned, holding him tighter, rolling his body up into Tony’s.  Tony couldn’t quite believe this was happening himself.  If Steve hadn’t ever gone out with anyone as he’d said before, it probably went without saying that he’d never slept with anyone, either.  And that seemed to be where this was headed rather quickly.  Normally Tony wouldn’t have thought twice and had Steve naked and begging in no time at all.  But he’d never cared before this much, never loved anyone like this, and diving in headfirst for pleasure and personal satisfaction wasn’t right.  Not here and not anymore.  Gently he pushed Steve back, looking into his hazy eyes.  “Are you sure you want to do this?  It’s…  Well.”  Tony grinned.  “This is just our first date.”

“Really?” Steve said with a laugh.  “We’ve _been_ dating for months.  All the times we’ve gone out, done things together, stayed together here…  We’ve been having a good time, getting to know each other, and now you’re telling me you love me, and I love you, and if that’s not going steady, I don’t know what is.”

Tony couldn’t help but laugh.  When was the last time anyone talked about going steady?  “It’s not just that.  You’re still recovering.  And, well, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.  Not with me, and not for me.”

Steve hooked his hand around the back of Tony’s neck and pulled him closer again.  “Take me to bed, Tony,” he whispered.

And that was that.  Tony helped Steve up off the couch and led him by the hand to his bedroom.  Steve sat on the bed, and Tony could tell for all his bravado, he was nervous.  Tony was nervous, too.  For the first time in his life, he was nervous about being intimate with someone.  This had to be right and tender and perfect.  It had to be what Steve wanted and needed, not just what Tony himself did.  Which wasn’t to say he’d been an inattentive lover in the past.  On the contrary, he’d never received any complaints.

But another fling or one-night stand wasn’t going to cut it now.  Tony carefully moved between Steve’s knees.  He pulled his shirts up and over his head.  Steve’s eyes widened, and for a second, Tony felt completely insecure.  This was another first.  With the people he’d slept with before, men and women alike, he’d never given a damn what they’d thought about his body (well, he’d always figured they’d thought he was attractive, because he knew he was good-looking, and the money and sex-appeal and egregious charm always added to that).  Now…

Now he was older.  He had the arc reactor in the center of his chest.  There were scars around it.  And he had other scars, too, scars from old wounds he’d sustained as Iron Man.  From the things he’d done, both good and bad.  He wasn’t the same man he’d been when he’d slept around, and he knew it.

Steve didn’t seem to care in the least.  The look on his face was one of appreciation, and his hands came up to touch Tony with nothing but respect and reverence.  Tony nodded wordless consent, and Steve swept his fingers over Tony’s pecs, down his belly, before back up to the arc reactor.  His lips followed, worshipful like he could kiss the scars away, and _no one_ had ever touched Tony like this.  It was a simple caress that was so meaningful, and Tony’s heart ached from the power of it, from someone caring about him enough to _want_ him to know he was beautiful.

He couldn’t stand it.  He tipped Steve’s face up and kissed him, hot and wet.  This was more demanding, more passionate, and Steve responded in kind.  Tony fumbled for the bottom of Steve’s t-shirt, drawing it up and off him.  Steve groaned and dropped back onto his elbows.  “Does it hurt?” Tony whispered, looking down at the pale flesh of Steve’s stomach and chest, spotting every aged injury.  The gunshot wounds had been reduced to discolored splotches, reddened, tender areas, and bruises.  It was remarkable.

And it was obvious Steve wasn’t entirely ready for this.  Not physically, anyway.  “No,” he said, a bit breathless and clearly lying.  He was shivering, though Tony wasn’t sure if that was from pain or desire or fear.  Or all of the above.  “Please…”

Tony reached a hand down Steve’s chest, felt the smooth skin and powerful muscle beneath it.  Steve moaned at that touch, and Tony got bolder.  He popped open the button of his jeans, pushing them down his hips and kicking them off.  Steve watched with dark, hungry eyes, relaxing more onto the bed, settling into the moment.  “C’mere,” he whispered in a husky voice.  “Tony, please…”

Tony climbed onto the mattress and crawled over the length of Steve’s body.  He took Steve’s mouth in another kiss, and Steve’s hands came to his hips as Tony rolled his rapidly hardening erection down into Steve’s midsection.  Steve gasped, surprised, tipping his head back into the pillows.  Tony planted feather-light kisses on the bottom of Steve’s jaw, moving his lips like he did his hands over his newest invention.  Gently and appreciatively.  When Steve’s breathing settled again and his fingers grew tighter on Tony’s hips, Tony moved downward.  He kissed Steve’s throat, nosing his chin up a bit to expose the column of pale skin.  One tantalizing brush of his lips at a time, he moved down the length of it, lips drifting, the softest, barest of touches.  This wasn’t normally how he made love.  He was typically a fast and furious kind of a guy, the wilder the ride the better, but, again, he didn’t think that wasn’t what Steve needed now.  That wasn’t what _he_ needed.  Maybe someday they could work into that.  Right now, he was content to take his time.

When he reached the throb of Steve’s pulse point, he set his lips to it and suckled.  Steve gave another little gasp, his hands falling from Tony’s waist to grip the bedding.  Tony pulled away after a moment, admiring the little mark he’d left that he knew would be gone almost instantly.  He licked it tenderly, sliding his hands achingly slowly up the fluttering, clenching muscles of Steve’s stomach.  While they rose, his mouth fell down to the hollow of Steve’s throat, dipping his tongue there before going left to trace Steve’s collarbone before exploring the ample swell of his left pec.  Steve groaned.  “Tony…”  He squirmed as Tony continued his worship, and then his hands and mouth met.  “Tony!”

Tony smiled against his skin, sweeping his thumb over Steve’s nipple.  The little bud immediately pebbled under his fingers.  He rolled it, enjoying far too much the embarrassed flush working its way down from Steve’s cheeks, down his neck, and across his chest.  He pinched the nipple lightly, and Steve whined.  Then Tony ducked his head, settling his mouth over it, sucking and laving attention upon it.  Steve’s hands went to his hair, not pulling him away but not entirely comfortable with this either.  The squirming got worse as Tony trapped the nipple gently between his teeth, circling it with his tongue, before sucking harder.  “Tony… Tony, geez.  I’m not a…  I’m not a dame.”

Tony leaned up, smiling devilishly.  He smirked as he spotted the bulge growing in Steve’s sweats, so damn proud of himself.  “No, you are most definitely not.”

Seeing where Tony was looking, Steve flushed, smiling.  “You’re an ass.”

Chuckling, Tony thumbed the wet nipple, his other hand going to the dry one.  “And what does it matter?  Does it feel good?”

Steve looked adorably confused.  “Yeah,” he said in a throaty, surprised whisper.  “Yeah, it does.”

The corner of Tony’s mouth quirked in a smile.  He leaned down to lick Steve’s other nipple, which earned him yet another little short breath.  “Then just let it feel good.  Don’t think.  Just feel.”

If Steve was about to protest, it was choked off in his throat as Tony resumed his efforts on the other side, sucking and nipping and laving the little bud until it was flushed red and firm with blood in his mouth.  The horny teenager inside him (to whom he never, _ever_ listened) had wondered once or twice (or many times) how the serum might have affected Steve (besides the obvious ways).  Did he have a ridiculous sex drive stored under all that inexperience and the image of American wholesomeness?  How many times could he come?  Did he feel everything _more_ , more sensitive and more intensely, than a normal guy did?  Like this.  Steve was positively writhing under him.  He was simultaneously trying to pull Tony closer and push him away, like it was _too much_ and _not enough_ at the same time, and Tony hadn’t even _touched_ any of the places that normally blew a man’s mind.  The thought made Tony get hard (well, harder).  All the things he could do to Steve (and in turn to himself).  Take him apart with hands and teeth and tongue before putting him back together.  Letting Steve take _him_ apart, teaching him how to, going and going until Tony was begging for mercy.  Steve was practically _vibrating_ with need and pleasure, so much so that he didn’t seem to know what to do with it, like all of this felt way more than good.  _Amazing._

Tony released the nipple from his lips with a lasting kiss and then leaned back to admire how flushed Steve looked.  Steve’s eyes were positively blown wide, absolutely brimming with desire, and Tony couldn’t resist kissing him again.  He smoothed Steve’s pecs, exploring Steve’s mouth deeper, and God almighty when Steve _moaned_ low in his throat, he thought he was going to burst in his pants.  He pulled away for a breath, bringing his hands up to caress Steve’s face.  “Okay there, Cap?” he asked lightly.

Steve looked dazed again, licking his lower lip and smiling a huge but jittery smile.  “Yeah. Just a little nervous.”

Tony wasn’t anymore.  “Don’t be.”

“Are – are you okay?”

“Definitely.  More than.  Way, way more than okay.”  Steve laughed, and Tony gave another Cheshire cat grin before dropping back down and lightly nipping at that plush lower lip.  To that Steve opened his mouth for another kiss.  This was more kissing than Tony had done in ages, maybe more than he’d ever done during sex, because, God, Tony didn’t think there was anything quite so… so _fucking divine_ as kissing Steve Rogers.  He’d fantasized about it _way too much_ before, and now that it was happening like this, just the way he’d wanted…  Every shift of his lips to Steve’s or dart of his tongue into Steve’s mouth, every time Steve reciprocated, it sent blood in equal parts to his heart and his groin.

“You’re beautiful,” Steve whispered, looking up into his eyes.  “You’re so beautiful.”

Tony moaned himself, this time more at the rush of love than desire.  He grew even bolder, hungrily exploring Steve’s mouth while he let his hand skirt its way down to Steve’s waist.  Steve’s stomach fluttered and quivered as Tony touched him and kissed his way down Steve’s neck and chest again.  He took a moment to kiss each one of the nearly healed injuries, tenderly worshipping every spot with his lips just as Steve had his own scars.  Steve’s breathing evened out as he did, and he wove his fingers through Tony’s hair.  After Tony was sure he’d touched each wound, like he could erase them with his fingers and lips and love, he explored the dips and hills of Steve’s stomach with his tongue, tracing the muscles wetly.  Then he reached the place where that light trail of fine hair disappeared under Steve’s sweats.  “Steve…”

“Tony,” Steve mumbled.  “Tony, Tony, I–”

“Can I touch you?”

“God, _yes._ ”

Tony grinned, pulling Steve’s sweat pants down with Steve fumbling to help him.  There were gray boxer briefs beneath that, boxer briefs which _still_ hid nothing, and now Tony could stare, _really_ stare.  Steve was… _well_ endowed (God bless the super soldier serum).  Tony’s heart was jackhammering against his sternum, and for a moment, despite who he was and all the experience he had at this, he completely forgot what he needed to do.  He could hear rushed breathing, panting, and he didn’t know if it was him or Steve.  Both, probably.  The stillness grew excruciating, with Tony kneeling between Steve’s legs and Steve propped up on his elbows, and they were both just staring at each other.  Tony finally made a move.  He dragged his thumb down Steve’s abdomen, through the light smattering of hair there, and cupped Steve through his underwear.  Steve practically jolted like skittish race horse.  “Oh, God,” Steve moaned, dropping his head back.  “Jesus.”

Tony laughed, resting his other hand on Steve’s rapidly rising and falling stomach to soothe him.  “Good?”

Apparently all higher-order brain functioning was abandoning Steve.  “Oh, God,” he whined.  “Yeah, Tony, Tony…”

“Yeah?” Tony said with another chuckle.

Steve licked kiss-swollen, spit-slicked lips.  “Dreamed about this.  So many times.  Was too afraid to ever tell you.  Too afraid it’d never happen.”

“It’s happening,” Tony promised.  For a split second, he wondered what he was promising here.  Despite all his assertions, Steve was clearly not up to much, and Tony had no interest whatsoever in taxing him or causing him even a shred of discomfort.  Instead he stroked Steve’s muscled stomach just as he tenderly ran his thumb the length of his manhood through the cotton of his underwear.  Steve gave a garbled moan, tremoring harder.  Tony leaned down, laying a kiss to Steve’s sternum.  “Let me make you feel good,” he murmured.

“What…”  Steve whimpered more when Tony stroked him again.  “What about you?” he slurred.

“Oh, darling, you don’t need to worry about me,” Tony promised.  He gave another stroke, and Steve groaned.  He continued that way, slow and patient, little caresses through his underwear, little squeezes, until Steve was fully relaxed and pliant beneath him.  He drifted his hand other hand down to Steve’s hip as he lowered himself until his face was pressed into Steve’s groin.

“Tony!”

“Shhh,” he whispered, pressing a light kiss into Steve’s inner thigh through the fabric of his underwear.  “Just let me, love.”  He kissed there again and again, one hand holding Steve’s hip in place, the other carefully working him.  He raised his head slightly to mouth alongside his dick, gentle little things that weren’t nibbles but weren’t kisses, either.  Steve squirmed harder and harder, breathing heavily.  Tony kept one eye on his face, searching for signs of pain or fear or discomfort, but there didn’t seem to be any.  Emboldened by that, he kissed his way up Steve’s length and attached his lips over the head, licking through the cotton before suckling gently.

Steve bucked under him, and Tony smiled, giving him another playful lick.  He did it again and again, and when he pulled away, he couldn’t help but admire the wet spots all over Steve’s underwear.  He gave Steve’s erection a parting kiss for a moment, before he was leaning up and sliding off the bed.  He shucked his own boxers in record time before going to the drawer of the bedside table.  There was lube in there and a condom; he didn’t think it would get that far, not tonight and not with Steve hurt – but, God, the thought of it…  It was almost too much, and Tony shivered with delight and anticipation, trying to hold onto his control.  He took the tube and came back to the bed.  Setting it to the side, he kissed Steve hard to ease him before hooking his fingers under the waistband of Steve’s boxer briefs and pulling them down.

Unsurprisingly, Steve’s cock was as perfect as the rest of him, long and thick and hard against his belly.  Tony made himself stop staring, checking instead to make sure Steve was alright with this while uncapping the tube.  Steve looked dazed.  A little nervous and embarrassed but definitely excited, face flushed and eyes bright.  “Okay?” he asked, licking his lips.

“Oh, very okay, love,” Tony answered as he squirted some gel onto his fingers, rubbing it to warm it.  “Very okay.  You take my breath away.”  Steve gave a beautiful, bashful smile (which was ridiculous, considering he was laying there naked, and how was this Tony’s life?), and Tony smiled, too.  He slowly slid his hand down Steve’s erection and then squeezed at the root. The lube eased the slide as he tightened his grip and moved his hand up.  Steve groaned, fisting the blankets as he sank more into the pillows.  Pleased, Tony did that a few more times.  Surely Steve knew what this felt like (hell, what guy didn’t?  And the image of Steve touching himself…  Fuck, he almost lost it again).  He kissed Steve’s thigh more, up to his knee and then back down again, and felt the huge muscles there tremble.  “Still good?” he whispered.

Steve didn’t seem capable of speaking, nodding frantically and reaching for Tony instead.  Tony leaned over him and obliged him with another kiss, driving his tongue into Steve’s mouth just as he twisted his wrist a little on the upstroke the way he liked.  Steve liked it, too, bucking his hips roughly and giving a ragged little cry that Tony swallowed.  Next Tony swept his thumb over the sensitive slit when he reached the top, and Steve moaned more and more.  Smiling, he slid down Steve’s body, settling between Steve’s spread legs, and flicked his tongue at the tip of his erection. 

Steve’s hips jerked again.  “Tony,” he gasped.  “Tony, don’t…  You don’t need to–”

Tony moved back just enough to say, “Yes, need to.  Very much need to.”  Then he tossed reservation to the wind and took Steve fully into his mouth.  He’d given only a few blow jobs in the past (he’d been on the receiving end of a hell of a lot more), but he knew he was good at it.  His own erection was a distant thing, aching and demanding but he could ignore it.  He was far more concerned about making this the best first experience possible.  He went to work with his tongue, keeping it light and teasing for now, sliding up and down Steve’s length.  He swirled it around the tip before going lower again, nibbling his way down the bottom.  Coming back upward, he let Steve’s length rest on his tongue tantalizingly before hollowing out his cheeks and sucking, not too hard, not too fast, working the base with his slick hand as he did.  Steve groaned hoarsely, desperately.  Tony chanced a look upward and saw him breathing hard through wet lips, eyes glazed with pleasure, face slack.  _Perfect._  

Encouraged that Steve was enjoying this, Tony tried other things, going harder and faster only to ease off, once more taking his time and learning what Steve really liked.  Steve was fighting to keep still, making a steady stream of soft noises that Tony would dream about for weeks.  Eventually the big muscles of Steve’s thighs bunched more, and Tony could feel his abs tighten under the flat of his other hand.  He was close.  He was leaking steadily into Tony’s mouth now; Tony had never cared much for the taste of it, but feeling Steve quiver beneath him, knowing it was Steve’s pleasure he was causing…  He lapped it up eagerly.

“Oh, hell, Tony,” Steve whined, fighting to keep his hips still again but rolling up all the same.  His hands returned to Tony’s hair, tight but not pulling.  Moving with Tony as Tony gently bobbed his head.  Hanging on as Tony encouraged him to thrust into his mouth a bit.  Tony moaned himself, the feel of Steve finally submitting to chasing his pleasure shooting straight to his own erection, which was hanging hard and heavy.  He couldn’t ignore that anymore, not in the slightest, and he raised his hips to reach down and wrap a slick hand around himself.  The pressure from that alone nearly had him coming, but he wasn’t going to.  Not without Steve.         

He pulled off to groan low in his throat, tightening his grip on himself to try to keep himself under control.  “Close?” he whispered in between kitten licks to Steve’s rigid, flushed dick.  “You close, baby?”

Steve’s eyes closed tightly.  “Please…” he whined, rolling his hips again and pretty wantonly searching for the wet het of Tony’s mouth.  “Oh, God, Tony…”

Tony smiled.  “I’ve got you.  You’re gorgeous.  And you’re mine, right?”

“Always,” Steve slurred.  “Forever.”

 _God._ Tony nudged Steve’s legs apart a little wider, palmed his dick with his wet hand to get Steve to tilt up his hips and lift his ass.  He did both pliantly, and Tony rewarded Steve with a teasing stroke with his lubed fingers.  Steve gasped, thrusting up again.  “Come on.  I’ve got you.”

“Please!”

Tony swallowed down Steve’s cock again, taking as much as he could now and taking it hard.  He fought the urge to gag, sucking instead, chasing Steve’s orgasm fast.  The position was awkward, jerking himself off and sucking Steve all while trying to keep his balance.  The heat inside him was too driving, though, and he kept going, rubbing himself faster and faster.  He’d never wanted anything like he wanted this.  He’d never felt so honored to _give_ this to someone else.  And he’d never felt more deserving himself.

All it took was his knuckles pressing gently but firmly against Steve’s perineum, and Steve came with a ragged cry.  He thrusted up in an aborted jerk, but Tony was prepared.  And he was prepared for the warm, bitter gush into his throat.  He swallowed it, breathing through his nose a moment, letting Steve work through his orgasm, shuddering and moaning.  The moment he felt Steve start to slide down the other side of his climax, the moment Steve pulled him up and kissed him deeply, the moment he felt Steve’s hand reach down between them to push his own away and stroke him…

Pleasure exploded inside him, pleasure so intense that the world just whited out for a bit.

When Tony came back to himself, he was deep in bliss, floating in euphoria.  He found himself laying on Steve’s chest.  He could feel Steve’s legs bracketing him, the tackiness of sweat and his own release between them.  He could hear their loud breathing, the slowing rush of Steve’s heartbeat underneath his ear, his own heart still pounding with so much, _so much…_   “It was you,” he heard himself murmur.

Steve’s hand went back to his hair, caressing gently.  Lips pressed to Tony’s forehead.  “Yeah?”

“God, I was blind.  I didn’t realize I was waiting for you.  All along, all this time…  It was always you.”

Steve’s chuckle was just about the most wonderful thing he’d ever heard.  “Well, I could’ve told you that.  For a genius, you can be pretty dumb.”

Tony laughed.  “Yeah, I can be.”  Steve laughed, too, and Tony leaned up to kiss him and kiss him.  “So tell me now,” he whispered against Steve’s lips.  “Tell me forever.”

Steve smiled, tightened his arms around him, and did just that.

 _“Over and over, I’m filled with emotion._  
_Your love, it rushes through my veins._  
_And I am filled with the sweetest devotion_  
_As I look into your perfect face._  
_There’s no more mystery._  
_It is finally clear to me._  
_You’re the home my heart searched for so long.  
_ _It is you I have loved all along.”_

– Dana Glover, “It Is You (I Have Loved)”

**THE END**


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